Don't You Dare Deny Me
by Reyelene
Summary: Although Fidget is rescued by a raving beauty, he makes every attempt to mask his criminal history. But what happens when he realizes that he can't keep up the game anymore?
1. Divine or Devious?

**_Don't You Dare Deny Me_ was my very first Fidget pastiche created in 2002, and the same story that gave birth to _The Fidget Connections Cast_. For as long as I've seen the movie, I had a vision about what would take place after Fidget was tossed in the River Thames. That vision was to reform him while keeping true to his character ... with the aide of someone who'd be a perfect match: Deniece la Chauve-souris (for we all know that he simply can't resist a woman). Originally, the story was nine pages long and intended to be short and simple. But when I read it with a fresh pair of eyes, I realized that it needed more, for it wasn't easy to describe Fidget's background without some basis of feasibility. After gaining new insight on the character and re-writing the story with new eyes, here is the story that started it all. Fidget belongs to Disney, the name "James" was used with permission by Mlle. Relda, Deniece and all other characters belong to me.**

**Chapter 1: Encounter With a Stranger**

It was close to performance time at The Rat Trap. All the lady performers waited backstage while fixing their hair and makeup. They only paused to engage in gossip.

"Do you think she'll show up?" asked an albino mouse.

"Who?" replied a golden-brown mouse.

"That girl. Deniece la Chauve-souris."

"Of course she'll be here," replied a black female mouse. "That hussy never misses a performance!"

"She's a nocturnal fox," added another. "They're whores by nature! Why else would they only be awake at night? She probably lures men to her secret den and sucks them dry! How can they think she's pretty? She has the eyes of a cat, ears of an elephant, and the face of a jackal!"

"The jackal is also French," said the black one. "You know how French women are, especially a nocturnal fox! They're snobbish, filthy, and evil!"

"Not as evil as your verds!"

The conversation came to a halt. All turned to meet the gaze of a dark-haired mouse in lace-decorated clothing. "Behold, ladies!" one mocked. "Its the jackal's friend, Lacey!"

The mouse's real name was Raisa Dalton, but everyone called her Lacey because she wore dresses with lace-filled collars and hems (which made her look more like a school girl). She had a soft Hungarian accent and dark violet eyes. "You delight in speaking poorly of a girl who isn't here to defend herself," Lacey continued in spite of the ladies mockery. "I know Deniece and she's an innocent voman."

"Poor, naive Lacey," replied one of the girls. "She has the worst luck with people. It's no wonder she got raped!"

Lacey clenched her fists irritably. She didn't know how to properly defend herself in harsh conversation. Her responses often sounded laughable and childish to many. "She saved my life! She risked her own life to protect me! Besides, you're only jealous because men fall for her and not you!"

Her response had no effect. They just laughed and mocked Lacey's friendship with Deniece. It was no use in reasoning with selfish women, she realized. Lacey continued her work in spite of her humiliation.

The conversation ceased when the door behind them swung open with a loud crash. There was a terrible rainstorm outside with ear-splitting thunder. Amid the upheaval, a figure bundled in a thick coat and scarf glided in like a raven. Slowly unwrapping her scarf, the woman revealed her face. It was fox-like with a serene, Mona Lisa expression. Her beauty was far too exotic for a mouse. No, this wasn't a mouse at all! Her ears were large, erect, and attentive as if she could hear winds from miles away. Her eyes were cat-green, yet soft as the weeping willow, bordered by long black eyelashes. Her fur was a dark tone that could only be associated with a native Moroccan. Her hair was butter-toned and reached the mid-section of her back and her side; hair-strands rested upon her breasts. But what convinced others of her un-mousely traits were her arms. After she took off her coat, she spread them open to reveal web-like wings.

"Deniece, dahling!" Lacey rushed to her with open arms and embraced the bat girl. "I'm relieved to see zat you arrived safely!"

"Bon soir¹, Lacey," replied Deniece with a welcoming smile.

The other girls welcomed her with jealous glares and snide comments. "Has the jackal come once again to whore herself with all the men in The Rat Trap?"

Deniece turned her gaze to the mouse who made the remark. "I thought that was your job, Sophie."

Her blunt remark brought silence among the crowd. It was obvious that the mouse called Sophie was insulted. "Watch your tone, jackal!" the mouse retorted. "I'm not a woman you would want to insult!"

"Get accustomed to it, cherie²," Deniece replied with indifference.

Their immediate silence was like an apple shoved down their throats. Sophie furiously marched up to slap the girl bat in the face. But Deniece's webbed hand caught her wrist before the hand made contact. She gave Sophie an indifferent stare that made her soft green eyes appear cold. Freeing her wrist from the bat's grasp, Sophie suppressed her wounded pride and said no more.

"You're on in ten minutes!" pressed Lacey. "Sit down and I'll fix your hair!"

Deniece strode gracefully to the dressing table like a queen. She handed Lacey a fistful of hair.

"The storm was getting harsh, "said Deniece. "It swept me like an unfastened windmill."

"At least you managed to keep dry. Isn't zat coat a bit heavy for flying?"

"I'm used to it. Besides, I keep the sleeves pinned up until I land on my feet."

"Alright, you're set!" said Lacey. "Go on!"

An eager, yet unimpressed Deniece rose from her seat and stepped onto the stage.

The lanterns dimmed before the teal curtains drew open. An uneasy silence was among the audience until Deniece made her presence. In her glimmering turquoise dress, she gracefully walked toward the edge. They piano played; Deniece opened her mouth to sing:

_How does the wine taste?_

_Does it sting your lips?_

_What is the fruit like_

_Just beyond my fingertips?_

Smiles popped up on faces like champagne corks. Denieces voice wasn't like other Rat Trap soloists. It was almost operatic with a touch of vibrato, softness of a nightingale, and a triumphant undertone of an unearthly spirit. Yet her timbre was sultry and quite uncommon for an Opera singer.

_What would it be like_

_If I broke the string?_

_Would it be lovely_

_And a little frightening?_

The sound of Deniece's singing lingered in the ears, mind, and soul like the sound of gentle rain upon thirsty leaves. She slowly strutted across the stage with an occasional swing of the hips, a gesture of the hand, and a wink of the eye. Although her moves were very subtle, it was enough to make the men yell with uncontrolled pleasure.

_How does the wine taste?_

_How does the wine taste?_

_How does the wine taste?_

_I think ... I know ..._ ³

The audience cheered as the curtains closed.

It was the end of the show. Deniece gathered her coat and scarf. Then Lacey appeared. "May I valk viz you, Deniece?"

"That would be wonderful, Lacey," Deniece sighed with relief. "I could use the company."

Deniece and Lacey were the last two to exit the door. Awaiting them both was a drunken mouse. Though his lustful gazes studied both females, his attention was focused on Deniece. "Hey shweetie," he replied. "What d'ya shay we, ah, elope, ya know, go shumplashe, nahishe and-"

Deniece turned her head. The stench of Meade on the mouse's breath was nauseating. "Pardonnez monsieur4, but I think not."

"Aw, come on!" the mouse whined. "I jusht wanna lil kish?"

"I don't kiss strangers," Deniece retorted. "Especially those drunk out of their minds!"

The drunkard laughed as if she made a jest. "Aaww, you're jusht playin' coy!" He placed his hands firmly on Deniece shoulders. She backed away forcefully.

"Are you mad!" she blurted, her tone more angry than before. "I said NO!"

The mouse continued to persist and handle her until he was greeted with a hard strike to his left eye. He screamed as his eye throbbed with pain. Once he regained his equilibrium, he gazed at Deniece in inexplicable horror. Her green eyes were shrunken and her wings stretched, making her anger appear unearthly and demonic.

"Let that be a lesson to you!" Deniece replied. "No man comes near to me without my consent! Touch me again and it'll be the worse for you!"

The mouse wasted no time in obeying her wishes. Frightened of the angry Deniece, he ran away. Through the rest of the walk, Deniece and Lacey engaged in conversation.

"You're a vunderful voman, dahling," started a rather hesitant Lacey, "but you're anger is so unpredictable it frightens me."

Deniece sighed in an exasperated manner. "He would never have stopped if I didn't hit him. I can't help it if it brings out the worst in me."

Deniece was stopped short by Lacey's firm, yet caring grasp on her wing. "Dahling, I'm vorried about you," Lacey uttered in a gentle and serious tone. "Ever since Mrs. Peters's dez, you haven't been out of ze house, except in coming to Ze Rat Trap. You haven't shed a tear in sree years. Ve haven't seen each ozher outside verk."

Deniece considered her friend's sudden response. Lacey was a quiet and reserved girl. But whenever she wanted to talk seriously, Deniece couldn't help but listen. The Parisian bat looked guiltily at the ground. Lacey was right. She hadn't been out for a while, except to go to work. Her gaze met Lacey's. Her green eyes were soft and gentle, yet sad. "Pardonnez," she uttered in a coy whisper. "I ... I've been alone, protecting myself for so long I guess I'm used to it."

Lacey placed her hands on Deniece shoulders. "Dahling, you have me ... and Fazher Richards and Constable Smiz. How can you be alone?"

Deniece gave her friend a shy, yet beaming smile. "Lacey, you're very dear to me. You, Father Richards, and Constable Smith. You're the only family I have left, but-"

"But you don't have a man viz you," Lacey guessed. "Anozher bat. Is zat right?"

Deniece nodded guiltily as she leaned against the Westminster Bridge. She rolled her head back in a tilt and sighed, which was her usual way of holding back tears. "I feel like I'm the only one of my kind left," she began to complain. "Not one man understands me! All they want from me is to spend a night in their beds. They think just because I sing and dance at The Rat Trap that I'm a street tramp who lives on sleeping around." She paced back and forth before she spoke again. "If I find a man, I want him to appreciate me. Even if we never marry, but remain friends I will be less lonely."

Lacey's heart ached as she gazed upon her friend's distant expression. There was a sadness in Deniece's eyes that was too hard to overlook. Even though Deniece was young and vigorous, her glassy stare at the River Thames was like that of an old woman, spending the last nights of her life in solitude. Lacey touched her friend's hand to get her attention back. "It's getting late. Your home on Addington Street is not far."

"I think I'll spend a few minutes here," said Deniece.

"Are you certain? Zose men might search for you."

"I'll be alright. Westminster Abbey is not far."

Despite Lacey's persistence, Deniece assured her friend that she was fine. The two girls embraced and kissed each other on the cheek before they parted. Deniece sat between the poles of the Westminster Bridge to stare at the Thames. The site of the dark water matched the mistiness in her green eyes. She held onto the pole as if to embrace a baby. "Even if we just remain friends, I will be less lonely ..."

Deniece's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a distant sound. Her large ears perked up. It was the sound of ... windmills? No, it wasn't as strong, yet ... the sound of pedaling followed. Pedaling? She looked to the sky. To her surprise, she spotted a dirigible, too small a scale to be built by human hands. When the pedaling ceased, she spotted something else. Someone had thrown a small object out. A bag? No, it wasnt a bag at all. It was ... a bat! It was falling, screaming, and flapping pitifully, before it landed in the river with a loud splash!

"Monsieur!"

Deniece threw off her coat and ran toward the Thames with open wings. She soared with the flawlessness of an eagle to the struggling bat. She couldn't make out the details of his face, except an expression of panic through the splashing water. Flapping her wings, Deniece extended her leg toward the creature. "Grab my ankle!" she cried. The bat obeyed ... but pulled too hard, dragging Deniece in before she could scream.

Water poured down her ears, stung her nose, and blurred her vision. Though Deniece wasn't a swimmer by nature, her will to survive was too strong for her to give up. She was able to spot the bat's body through blurred vision. He was sinking ... further. She clasped the bat's wrist with her hand and swam to the surface. Deniece struggled to keep both their heads above water, until a piece of wood floated in their direction. She wrapped one wing around the bat stranger as she backwards to reach the drifting wood. To her worry, she felt the bat's body going limp.

"We're almost there! Hold on!"

She swung her free wing back and came in contact with the wood. With all her strength, she lifted herself and the bat onto the wood. Both creatures rolled on their stomachs coughing; the bat stranger was vomiting water. Deniece's body shivered. The icy touch of water stung her toes. She noticed that her feet were uncovered and realized that she lost her shoes in the water.

Deniece raised herself to her knees and crawled toward the new-found stranger. "Are you alright monsieur?"

The bat only answered her question with a sickly, empty gaze. That's when Deniece got a better look at him. The bat was short (about half her height), skinny, and had large yellow-gold eyes. His ears were large like Deniece's, but very limp. His right ear had a notch. His right wing was crippled, a sign to Deniece as to explain why he couldn't fly his way out of trouble. She also noticed his right leg, which had no foot, but a wooden peg in its place. His fur was gray as rain clouds and he wore ragged clothing.

"Are you alright?" Deniece repeated.

"Who ... Who are you ...?" was all he managed to say. He wanted to say more, but all that emerged was a fitful of coughs. Deniece couldn't tell whether the gruff tone of his voice was his own or from the coughing.

"You're coming to my house immediately." Deniece stood on the board with her wings spread. "Climb on my back."

The peg-legged bat just stared at her.

"Climb on my back," she repeated firmly.

The sickly bat obeyed and Deniece flew him to dry land. As soon as their feet touched ground, the bat went into a swoon. He clutched Deniece's dampened dress and took no notice of her startled cry.

**Chapter 2: Under a Woman's Care**

The bat's eyelids fluttered and opened. His surroundings were blurry, but gradually came into focus. He spotted a fireplace in the next room with a large pot of boiling water. He turned his head to the right. A few oil paintings hung on the wall. His surroundings were strange to him, but he felt too feverish to react. When he turned his head to gaze at the ceiling, he was greeted with a pair of soft green eyes. It gave him a startle that sent him bolting against the head of the bed-frame.

"So you're awake?"

Deniece sat on the edge of the bed and dried her hair with a towel. She wore a white bathrobe and slippers in order to keep herself warm. Deniece couldn't help but notice that the bat fastened himself against the bed-frame. He looked like a fly in a spiders web, gazing fearfully at its captor.

"What's wrong?" she asked with a concerned look. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Where am I!" the bat demanded.

"In my house," answered Deniece. "You were drowning, so I came in after you."

"Who are you, lady!"

"My name is Deniece, but all know me as Deniece la Chauve-souris."

"I don't know why you brought me here," said the bat arrogantly. "I didn't need savin'!"

"Now monsieur," Deniece said rather sternly. "There's no need to be angry."

"I don't care!" The bat sounded very cranky. "I don't need ... I ..." He stopped short in his speech to gaze at what he was wearing.

"What's dis!"

"My father's bathrobe," replied Deniece.

"WHAT!"

"You're clothes were wet," Deniece mentioned. "Surely, you're not implying that I'd leave you with wet clothes on?" She motioned her wing toward the clothes near the fireplace. The bat looked frantically at the clothes then back at Deniece. "Monsieur, you look so frantic. Try to rest."

"Rest!" cried the bat. "How da hell can I rest!"

Deniece shook her head and sighed heavily to maintain her patience. "I know I'm a complete stranger to you, but you needn't be cross with me. You're very ill and you need to stay in bed."

I'm fine!" the bat reacted. "I'm not-!"

His protests stopped short when he began to cough uncontrollably. Deniece quickly fetched him a cup of chamomile tea. "Drink this," she commanded.

At first, the helpless bat hesitated Deniece's offer. But his hideous coughing was so uncontrollable that his whole body ached. He drank the tea, wincing (as if the taste of tea disagreed with him). His coughing ceased and he fell giddily back on the bed.

"You should rest," Deniece advised him. "This is the guests' bed. It won't do you good to hang upside down in your condition."

The peg-legged bat didn't have the strength to argue. He lay flat on his stomach with his wings folded. Deniece meant to place her hand on his forehead until the bat stubbornly pushed it away. "You're lucky I've a skilled hand in medicine," she said, disregarding the bat's behavior. "What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked the bat feebly.

"What is your name?" Deniece repeated with a slight tone of impatience.

"Fidget ..."

"Well, Monsieur Fidget," she said. "You rest tonight. Tomorrow I shall fetch Dr. Hemingway."

Fidget gazed stupidly at her as she closed the door. He was about to call for her until exhaustion overwhelmed him. He feverishly lay his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Fidget woke up to the sound of chattering from the next room. He groaned and covered his ears with the pillow. "Damn dat woman," he uttered in a low voice. "Can't a guy get some sleep?"

He heard the sound of the door creak. When he uncovered his head, Fidget was blinded by the glow of light from the next room. The sudden flash bothered his eyes and made his head throb. Fidget rubbed his eyes before opening them again to take another look. It was Deniece, with a middle-aged, dark-furred mouse by her side.

"This is the man I was talking about, Doctor," said Deniece. "Could you provide him your services?"

"I cahn, ahnd I will."

Fidget round eyes grew big as saucers. The doctor's accent was too foreign to be British. In truth, his accent sounded Oriental.

"Fidget, this is Dr. Hemingway," said Deniece. "He's here to help you."

Fidget pinned himself against the beds head in an uneasy manner. He stared at Deniece then back at the strange doctor. This was Dr. Hemingway? The presence of the mouse made him shudder like fragile leaves blown in the wind. The mouse rubbed his long dark beard with curiosity.

Forgive his odd behavior, Deniece told the doctor. This boy seems taken aback by strangers.

"Noht to worry," Dr. Hemingway assured her. "He'll be less afraid when I'm through with him"

When I'm THROUGH with him? Fidget trembled more than ever.

"Then I'll leave you to your work."

A half-hour passed since Dr. Hemingway went in the room. Deniece heard nothing but complaining and wheezing the whole time. She was under the impression that Fidget was making the doctor's job difficult. Deniece couldn't help but giggle to herself as she overheard the bat's protests. His outbursts didn't last long. There was a moment of silence before Dr. Hemingway came out. He informed Deniece that Fidget had a slight touch of pneumonia. Then the doctor presented her with a small cup with a strange kind of tea. The smell of it was very familiar to Deniece.

"Peppermint?"

Dr. Hemingway nodded. "From the finest peppermint leaves."5

As Deniece escorted him to the door, Dr. Hemingway spoke with her about Fidget's challenging behavior. Fidget squirmed whenever the doctor touched him or spat out the thermometer every time it was put in his mouth. It wasn't until Dr. Hemingway gave him the peppermint tea that Fidget calmed down and learned to trust him. Although Deniece apologized for Fidgets behavior, the doctor only laughed.

"Noht to worry," said Dr. Hemingway. "I've dealt with worse."

"I suppose. Good night doctor."

Fidget stared at the ceiling as he pondered over the visit with the strange doctor. Just then, he heard the door open again. It was Deniece.

"You really are a difficult man, aren't you?"

Fidget didn't reply to her comment. Instead, he heaved an annoyed sigh and leaned his back against the pillow. His eyes caught sight of Dr. Hemingway through the window as he disappeared into the streets. He gave Deniece a confused stare and pointed. "Dr. Hemingway? Is he ...?"

"From India," Deniece completed. Fidget's jaw dropped. How could an Indian doctor have a name like Robert Hemingway? Deniece suddenly understood his confusion. "That isn't his real name."6

Fidget stared at her strangely. "So, you have a mystic for a neighborhood doctor!"

"He's a great doctor," Deniece said, disregarding his last comment.

Fidget covered his face with the pillow. He laughed hysterically and took no notice of Denieces humorless expression. "A French Amazon and a British mystic.7 Damn, its hilarious!"

"I beg your pardon!" blurted an offended Deniece.

Fidget's laughter came to a halt when he began to cough. Clasping his sides, he rolled on his stomach in a fitful of coughing. Forgetting the bat's previous criticism, Deniece quickly fetched the cup of peppermint tea. When she drew the cup closer to his mouth, Fidget turned away and held his nose. "Not again!" he complained between coughs. "I can't stand dat sweet-smellin stuff!"

"It'll help you breathe."

"I don't care!"

But Deniece didn't pay any heed to his complaint. She pinned herself on Fidget and poured the tea through his lips. He made an ugly face when it touched his tongue and gullet. After a few seconds, his body loosened up and he could breathe again. He made no effort to wriggle free from Deniece's grasp.

"You are a difficult man," Deniece sighed, lifting herself off Fidget. "I should have you restrained."

Fidget turned his face away, embarrassed by his defeat.

"Well, no matter," said Deniece as she placed the cup back on the tray. "If you're smart enough, you won't strain yourself."

Insulted by the remark, Fidget darted his gaze at Deniece with wide eyes. He was about to make another criticism until she cut in. "I warn you. Don't force me to restrain you."

From the protruding glare in her green eyes, Fidget assumed that she was serious. He dared not test her any further. He simply felt too weak and thick. Instead, he grabbed the pillow and placed it under his head. Deniece pulled the blanket over his body to keep him warm. As she walked toward the door, she turned back to add a last statement.

"I think it's wise that you stay here until your strength returns. Lacey will be visiting, and I'll have her look after you while I'm out."

After Deniece closed the door, an annoyed Fidget buried his face in the pillow. "Damn!" he uttered in a low and muffled tone. "I have to stay here with dat harpy!"8

Although Fidget wanted to protest, the softness of the pillow was too inviting. Fidget closed his eyes and was plagued by bizarre hallucinations.

**Chapter 3: Escape Her ... or Kill Her?**

A week passed since Fidgets arrival at the house on Addington Street. He was under the supervision of Lacey, since Deniece had to perform at The Rat Trap. Deniece only returned at night to engage in an hour of conversation before taking over. Although he felt his strength coming back to him, he still required supervision and peppermint tea (he still underwent fits of coughing). Fidget was able to put up with Laceys presence. She would give him the peppermint tea when necessary then make herself comfortable in the parlor. She only peeked through the bedroom door on occasion.

Then came the second week. Fidget felt good enough for an occasional walk out of bed, but still required need of rest. The feeling that he would soon be well enough to leave was welcoming. He would be rid of that harpy bat and back to the sewer. Fidget lavished in the dream until Deniece said something that not only dashed his hopes, but sent his mind in a panic.

"I should find out where you live. I can fly you there myself."

Find out where he lived? Fidget gulped uncomfortably. If she found out where he lived, shell find out who he belonged to. Shed call the police and have him thrown in jail! Or worse, Professor Ratigan would be angry and have him fed to his executioner, Felicia! No, he couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't let Deniece find out.

"I gotta get outta here!" he muttered under his breath. "I can sneak out da window when it's bedtime. Dhen I could tell da boss dat-"

Fidget covered his mouth before he could say another word. He couldn't tell his boss, he realized. Even if he kept his encounter with Deniece a secret, it was bound to be public news before long, rest assured. The professor would surely have him fed to his cat or thrown into the Thames again. Or the gang would shoot him while the professor watched. Deniece would not be there to save him.

Fidget rubbed his chin as he was pestered by muddled ideas. "I could kill her," he whispered. "I'll slice her throat and escape. No one will find out."

But no sooner than he uttered this idea when another thought occurred that he nearly forgot. That Lacey! What if she called the police or Basil of Baker Street? Fidget pulled his ears nervously, cursing himself for his lack of strategy. "Goddammit!" he muttered through clenched teeth. "Da boss isn't gonna like dis."

Fidget paced back and forth on the bed. If he escaped Deniece, there was the risk of being discovered, at the cost of his life. If he killed her, the risks were just the same. Fidget felt his mind splitting. What should he do? Escape her ... or kill her?

"I'll just improvise," he sighed.

Fidget carefully studied the room to find something that looked useful. When he spotted nothing, he looked at the small bureau to his left. What if he found something in there?

Making sure that Deniece wasn't close by, he quietly opened the top drawer. Inside were some books. When Fidget opened them, he noticed that they were sketchbooks. He wasn't certain how useful they would be, but he curiously browsed through the drawings. Many of them were still-life sketches of fruit. Most of them were portrayed realistically. But some of them were grapes or apples with rock-like textures. Each sketch was dated. Most of them were drawn ten years ago. The most recent one was done five months before Queen Mousetoria's Diamond Jubilee. When he reached the end of one of them, he found a note written inside the cover: In memory of a kind and loving father. May these drawings that flow through my hand keep his spirit alive.

She draws? uttered a puzzled Fidget.

He placed the sketchbooks back inside. Before he closed the drawer he found other items of interest. There were three daguerreotype photographs. The first photo was a portrait of a little girl bat in a beret. The eyes, hair, and nose reminded him of Deniece. The second photo showed the same girl with a chubby, balding mouse. Both creatures looked like they were laughing. When he looked at the third photo, he saw the same bat girl standing with a Scottish terrier. She stroked its bridge while the dog nuzzled her with his nose. Fidget cringed. "I hate dogs!"

Placing the items back in the drawer, Fidget began to look through the second drawer. When he encountered more books, Fidget huffed irritably. Would his search end up in vain? Expecting disappointment, Fidget opened the first book he picked up. The pages were filled with writing. When he began to read it, he realized that it was a diary.

July 5, 1897

I was on my way home from

The Rat Trap. Lacey and I walked together

until we reached Westminster Bridge,

then I was on my own or so I thought.

"Da Rat Trap!" Fidget gaped. "She works at Da Rat Trap!"

Fidget thumbed through the pages. He had hoped to reach the end since he was a slow reader. But then, he came across a recent entry that caused him to worry.

_July 18, 1897_

_All of a sudden, I've developed_

_a bothersome curiosity, concerning_

_that Fidget character. His behavior is_

_SO incomprehensible. Since I took him under_

_my care, he has been very evasive. He hasn't uttered_

_a single word about himself, pins his body to the wall_

_whenever I enter the room, and shoves my hand away whenever_

_I touch his forehead. What kind of man shies away from hospitality?_

_Is he afraid of women? Does he hate them? Or is he HIDING something?_

_Since he won't say anything, maybe I should see Constable Smith. Is he in_

_some kind of trouble? Or is he an escaped criminal, afraid of discovery?_

_Should I be helpful, or suspicious? It's so confusing. I don't know WHAT to_

_make of it._

Fidget felt his breath stop short as if a seal had shut out his wind pipe. He absentmindedly let the diary slip from his hands ... dropped it on his bare foot.

"OW! My foot!"

Fidget clasped his mouth with one webbed hand while he held his foot with the other. He allowed himself to fall on the floor, wincing in pain. "Da boss is gonna have my head!" he complained as he massaged his foot. "I gotta stop dat lady!"

After rising himself to his foot and peg, Fidget opened the door a crack. He peeked in the parlor, but saw no sign of Deniece. Creeping out of the bedroom, he scanned the parlor for anything that looked useful. To his luck, he spotted a poker next to the fireplace. A wicked grin spread across his face. He would strike that harpy to death with the poker. Grabbing his new weapon in one swift, Fidget made his way up the stairs.

When he reached the top, Fidget encountered a hallway with four doors on each side. A baffled expression came on his face. Which one would he choose first? He started with the first door on the left ... until suddenly he heard something that nearly gave him a startle.

_Gloria, gloria!_

_Gloria, gloria!_

Once Fidget regained his equilibrium, he realized that it was a woman singing, accompanied by the upbeat playing of a piano. The volume was so thunderous that he feared it would pin him against the wall with unearthly force. Yet Fidget listened to it with the utmost curiosity.

_Gloria in excelsis Deo!9_

_Gloria in excelsis!_

_Gloria in excelsis Deo!_

_Gloria in excelsis!_

Its vibrato tingled his spine and drummed his chest like hail against a windowpane. But its sweet and sultry timbre soothed his ears and mind like warm water upon delicate skin. Forgetting why he came upstairs, Fidget idly dropped the poker and crept toward the sound.

_Glory to God in the Highest!_

_Gloria! Alleluia!_

_Alleluia! Gloria!_

_To God in the Highest!_

It was coming from the last door on the right. Who was singing? How could a voice be so powerful and beautiful at the same time? Fidget pressed his ear against the door to listen. He raised a clenched fist to knock ... when the door unexpectedly swung open, smacking him on the nose. "OW! GODDAMMIT!"

Fidget groaned in pain as his hands clasped his nose. The door closed as quickly as it had opened. Fidget looked up to see who it was ... and saw Deniece.

"Monsieur Fidget!" she gasped surprisingly. "What are you doing?"

"'Oldin my poor nose," Fidget complained in a nasal tone. "Ow! I-yi-yi!"

"I'm sorry," Deniece uttered in an exasperated tone, "but you could've knocked."

Could've knocked? What the hell did she think he was doing? Fidget clenched his teeth angrily. How much longer could he stand that woman?

"Come now," Deniece demanded. "Let me take a look at it."

Fidget abruptly turned his head away from her touch. Deniece firmly grasped his jawbone with her fingers, turning his face to hers. "Take your hands away."

"I'm fine!" Fidget replied defensively.

"Take your hands away," Deniece demanded impatiently. "That's an order."

Without another word, Fidget reluctantly let his webbed hands fall down. Deniece drew her eyes closer to carefully examine his bruised nose. Fidget quickly shut his eyes so as not to be intimidated by her stare. He felt her webbed fingers gently pinching his bridge. It made him wince.

"At least its not broken," Deniece concluded. "Come with me to the parlor."

Although Fidget wanted to protest, the pain in his nose was too bothersome. He walked behind Deniece, wondering what kind of medicine she had in store for him. Deniece only stopped before the staircase to pick up an object from the floor. "What's this poker doing here?"

Fidget stopped short. He had completely forgotten about the poker. He also didn't think that Deniece was so attentive to little details. Was she more clever than he realized? He dared not utter a word.

When they reached the parlor, Deniece motioned Fidget to sit on the couch. "I'll fetch some ice."

Fidget sat down without hesitation. Humiliated by his ignorance and defeat, he gazed at his folded hands embarrassingly. Why was he so daft to forget about the poker? Fidget mulled over in his mind what had happened. He hoped to come up with another method to get rid of that nuisance of a woman. Before he could come up with anything, Deniece returned with a wet rag wrapped around ice.

"Hold this to your nose," she commanded.

Fidget swiped the rag irritably from her webbed hands. As he held the bundle to this nose, he felt the nipping coldness of the ice numb the pain. Fidget heaved a huge sigh of relief that his hands trembled.

Deniece sat across from him with her large wings crossed. "You're the most peculiar man I ever met."

Fidgets ears perked up. For some reason, he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that remark. "Whaddya mean?"

"You know what I mean," said Deniece. "You shrink whenever I touch you, you draw back whenever I enter the room, you haven't told me one single thing about yourself ... Then I find you outside the piano room and that poker near the staircase."

Fidget felt a lump in his throat. Not that blasted poker, again! He hoped that she would forget about it. He felt like cursing himself. He should've known that his hope was too good to last. "I don't know what youre talkin' about, Niecy."

"Niecy?" Deniece blurted.

"I heard ... I thought dat-"

"What were you doing up there?" Deniece interrupted.

Fidget gulped. He stumbled in his mind to come up with a good lie. "Well I ... uh, well-"

The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell.

"That must be Lacey," said Deniece. "She promised to visit me today."

Fidget sighed with relief. His heart was beating so rapidly that he thought it would punch through his chest. His moment of peace was short-lived when Deniece stopped short to look back at him.

"We'll discuss this later."

That night, Fidget lay awake in bed and stared at the ceiling. Denieces visit with Lacey lasted for hours while he spent the whole time in the guestroom, trying to come up with a convincing lie. To his luck, he finally came up with a story that couldn't fail. Fidget told Deniece that he was asleep in the room, but woke up to the sound of singing, finding himself out of bed and unaware of what happened. Fortunately, Deniece didn't ask about it anymore. It worked!

But Fidget didn't allow himself to rest assured yet. What if Deniece didn't believe him? After all, Deniece looked too smart to believe a cock-and-bull story.

Fidget pondered for another method to be free of her. "Maybe I'll run away," he uttered in a low tone. I can disguise myself and hide. No one will find me, not even da boss.

Fidget looked at the window. It was the only way, he concluded. He had to escape tonight before it was too late. Fidget slipped out of bed and opened the window. He was about to climb through, but stopped short when he noticed he was still in a robe. He couldnt go out like that! In fact, he couldnt go out empty-handed! Closing the window, Fidget crept into the parlor to find some clothes and valuables. He spotted a safe on the wall.

"Dhere must be a lot of money," Fidget whispered to himself. "I have to get it opened."

He crept toward the safe ... until he heard a distant sound.

_"Kyrie eleison _

_Kyrie eleison ..."_

Fidget stopped short. It was that voice again!

_"Christe eleison _

_Christe eleison ..."_10

The tingling feeling returned once again. This song was slow and haunting, yet the voice held the same sweetness and power that paralyzed Fidget in his tracks. He furiously shook his head and covered his large ears.

"Dis is nuts!"

Fidget rushed back into the guestroom and hopped on the bed. Covering his head with the pillow, he hoped the singing would go away. Unfortunately, it was too irresistible to drown. Fidget continued to listen to that hauntingly soothing voice.

_"Kyrie eleison _

_Kyrie eleison _

_Christe eleison _

_Christe eleison ..."_

Over and over, the voice repeated words that were foreign to him. Its sweetness swept through Fidgets body like wind. It was such a stimulation to his whole body that Fidget was both entranced and frightened of it. He tried to remember what he had planned, but it was hopeless. Any thoughts of escaping or killing slipped away. The voice was there ... and Fidget was its captive.

**Chapter 4: The Death of Raisa Dalton**

The crack of thunder woke Fidget up. What happened? Was he asleep? He tried to remember, but his thoughts were thick as strawberry jam. When Fidget heard humming outside the guestroom, he finally remembered. That voice! Who was singing?

Fidget decided to look for Deniece. He went upstairs and opened every door he encountered in the hallway. "Hey Niecy?" he called. His ears perked. When he heard humming from the second door on the right, he crept up to listen. It was that voice alright, with the soft sound of water. It was that voice alright. He knew it.

"Niecy?" he whispered. There was no answer. He decided to open the door. "Niecy, who is dat-"

Fidget froze in his tracks. His face turned red as a tomato when he beheld an unexpected sight. Deniece was just stepping out of a bathtub with a towel wrapped around her body. Upon seeing Fidget, she screamed and almost dropped her towel.

"What are you doing!" she shouted.

Fidget didn't respond. He just stared at her towel-wrapped body.

"That does it!" Deniece shouted. She took a scrubbing brush and threw it at Fidget's head. He suddenly broke free of his inexplicable trance.

"OW!" he cried, clasping his head with both wings.

"How dare you spy on me!" shouted an angry Deniece. "I ought to call Constable Smith!"

She stomped in his direction as if ready to attack him. Fidget gulped and backed away, only to trip on his peg-leg. He landed on his back, with such a crash that it almost knocked the breath out of his body. Then Deniece slipped clumsily on the water-soaked floor and almost fell on Fidget. She broke her fall with her palms. Fidget could smell sweet jasmine emanating from her body. He found it so stimulating that he unshielded his eyes. Through a fallen piece of her towel, Fidget spied a glimpse of a V-shaped cleavage.

"Get out of this room," Deniece demanded in a low tone.

Fidget re-covered his eyes, when he met Deniece's green eyes. They were shrunken with a cold anger that was frightening. "Now take it easy, Niecy," he uttered, hoping to calm the girl down. "It's not what you t'ink."

"Did you hear me, you stupid little man!" Deniece shouted. "Get out!"

Fidget didn't hesitate to obey. His mind was in such a panic that he clutched is throat with his hands.

"It's time you explain yourself, Monsieur Fidget."

Fidget abruptly turned his head. Deniece emerged from the room in a white bathrobe. She gazed suspiciously at Fidget with crossed arms. He knew that she was waiting for him to talk.

"I wasn't doin anyt'ing," Fidget remarked defensively. "I was only lookin for-"

"Not doing anything, you say?" Deniece replied in an unconvinced tone. "You behave rather curiously for someone who was not doing anything."

"Well, I wasn't," said Fidget. "How can I? You're da lady who keeps me a prisoner in bed!"

"I brought you here out of pity," Deniece reminded him. "You wouldn't be standing here right now if it wasn't for me. I think you should show me a little gratitude."

"Well I didn't ask you to save me!" said Fidget. "I can help myself!"

"Is that right?" Deniece replied in an offended tone. "Then suppose I throw you back in the Thames myself."

Fidgets jaw dropped at her last remark. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, I dare," Deniece responded in a pompous tone. "Let's head over there right now and see how much I dare, you ungrateful little troll!"

Before Fidget could protest, he felt a firm grip on both his arms. Deniece grasp was so strong that it was painful. "Stop dat, Niecy!" he demanded. "Let go!"

Deniece didn't let go. Her grip on Fidget grew stronger. "Don't take me for a simpleton, Monsieur Fidget. That's the worse thing a man could do."

"Niecy, stop it!" Fidget protested.

And another thing, she replied, disregarding his last remark. "Don't call me Niecy! I'm not your little pet, and I'm certainly not afraid of you or any other man."

Fidget's mind was racing with anxiety. The pain from Deniece's grip was torture. The more he demanded her to stop, the more her grip tightened. "I-yi-yi!" he cried. "You're hurtin my wings!"

All of a sudden, Deniece released her hold on Fidget. Aghast by what she had done, she gazed at her hands and back at the poor, trembling bat who was massaging his wings. Fidget huffed laboriously as he gazed in horror at his wings and back at Deniece. "Were you tryin' to kill me!"

Deniece did not utter a word, but reached out to touch Fidget's wings. He hesitated and protested, fearing she would torture him again. But Deniece grabbed hold of Fidget's left wrist and brought him into the bathroom. She turned on the spigot from the bathtub and held Fidget's left wing under running water. Encouraging him to hold still, Deniece massaged his whole arm from shoulder to wrist. Fidget winced from the discomfort that remained in his arm. But at the same time, the cool water and the pressure of Denieces fingers applied a soothing tingle that lessened the pain. It felt so good that Fidget heaved a sigh of relief. He gazed at Deniece in confusion. Her green eyes were remorseful as she examined his poor, fragile wing. When she attended to his right wing, Fidget gazed at his left in bewilderment. He tested his wing by flapping it, but there was no hint of discomfort. It was as good as new ... and better.

"How did you do dat?" said Fidget. "Are you a mystic?"

"This is not mystic's work," Deniece replied.

Fidget made no attempt to reply or protest. He simply allowed Deniece to continue her work while he considered all that had happened. Then he recalled the singing. "Um, Niecy?"

"Will you stop calling me that," Deniece uttered in an exasperated tone. "My name is Deniece."

"I'm more comfortable with Niecy, if you don't mind."

Deniece sighed heavily, deciding whether to argue the matter or overlook it. "Alright then. What is it?"

"I heard someone singin," Fidget began.

"Oh? What about it?"

"Well, who was?"

The sound of the doorbell interrupted the conversation. Deniece had already finished with Fidget's right wing. "Perhaps it's Lacey," she concluded. "Wait here."

With a puzzled look on his face, Fidget watched Deniece rush out the room. He gazed at both his wings and looked back at the door. What a strange woman, he thought to himself. Ever since that first night Fidget found himself in her house, her actions confused him. He didnt need any help, yet she pestered him. He hated that peppermint tea she served, yet she made him drink it. She almost broke both his wings, yet she fixed them out of shame. Who was she?

In the meantime, Deniece opened the door, expecting to see her friend Lacey. Instead, she found herself face to face with an elderly mouse constable. He was a chubby mouse with serious expression on his face. He had creamy brown fur, small black eyes, and an odd mustache that extended to his cheekbones.

"Constable Smith!" Deniece gasped. "I didn't expect you!"

"Of course you didn't, lass." The constable had a deep voice and an accent that was decadent of Edinburgh.

"Come inside and sit by the fire."

Little did they both know that Fidget was eavesdropping from upstairs. He peeked through the railings to get a better look at the constable. Fidget gulped, hoping that Constable Smith wouldn't see him.

Deniece escorted the constable to the couch. Ill fetch us both some tea.

"Now Deniece," Constable Smith uttered in a calm, yet serious tone. "I didn't come to visit."

Fidget's ears perked up. From the sound of the constable's tone, he could only guess that something was wrong.

"Is something the matter?" said Deniece.

Constable Smith motioned the girl to sit down. "I regret to say that I come with bad tidings."

Bad tidings? Fidget couldn't help but wonder what could be wrong. Deniece sat on the couch across from the constable. "What is it, Constable?"

Constable Smith sighed. "Raisa Dalton, your friend, Lacey is dead."

Dead? The word struck both Fidget and Deniece like arrows. "W-What ...?"

"Her body was fohnd near Big Ben," answered Constable Smith. "She was stabbed. We don't knoh who did this, but we believe it was some of Professor Ratigan's thugs."

Upon the mention of Ratigan's name, Fidget nearly slumped onto the floor. The boss did this? The lump in Fidgets throat felt as large as a peach.

"No ... Its not true," uttered Deniece. "Please tell me it's not true!"

Constable Smith firmly placed his hands on Deniece's shoulders, assuring her that he spoke the truth. Deniece turned her face away. She stared blankly at the floor before she met Constable Smith's gaze again. Although the constable told her how sorry he felt for her loss, Deniece remained speechless and horrified. "I spoke with Father Richards about it," said Constable Smith. "There will be a funeral tomorrow night at Westminster Abbey. I will come by and escort you there if you wish."

Deniece felt such a knot in her gullet, that she could barely speak. She inattentively nodded her head. Guessing that she needed to be alone, Constable Smith bade her farewell and left the house. Suddenly, Deniece found her tongue again. "It's not true! IT'S NOT TRUE!"

All of a sudden, Deniece went into a mad rage. Fidget gulped as he watched her throw vases and kick over the table. He felt his whole body shudder as he listened to her horrifying shouts. "Not Lacey," was all Fidget could hear. But Deniece's violent rage didn't last long. Afterward, she fell onto the couch, sobbing. Fidget couldn't help but gaze in wonder at her quivering body. This was something very foreign to his knowledge. At the same time, the sound of Deniece's heart wrenching sobs clutched at his chest like claws. What will happen when she finds out who he was? What if she assumed that he was responsible for Lacey's death? Fidget's mind was plagued with nightmarish thoughts.

"Dis is not good," he whispered to himself. "Not good at all."


	2. A Newfound Friendship

**Don't You Dare Deny Me was my very first Fidget pastiche created in 2002, and the same story that gave birth to The Fidget Connections Cast. For as long as I've seen the movie, I had a vision about what would take place after Fidget was tossed in the River Thames. That vision was to reform him while keeping true to his character ... with the aide of someone who'd be a perfect match: Deniece la Chauve-souris (for we all know that he simply can't resist a woman). Originally, the story was nine pages long and intended to be short and simple. But when I read it with a fresh pair of eyes, I realized that it needed more, for it wasn't easy to describe Fidget's background without some basis of feasibility. After gaining new insight on the character and re-writing the story with new eyes, here is the story that started it all. Fidget belongs to Disney, the name "James" was used with permission by Mlle. Relda, Deniece and all other characters belong to me.**

**Chapter 1: _A Night at the Rat Trap_**

Shortly after their failure to dispose of Queen Mousetoria, Professor Ratigan and Fidget made their escape in a small dirigible, taking Olivia Flaversham with them. Basil of Baker Street, Dr. Dawson, and Hiram Flaversham were on their trail. Fidget was forced to pedal faster. The poor peg-legged bat could feel his heart beat so hard against his chest that he feared it would punch a hole through it. The strength in Fidget's small body was suddenly ebbing away. His gullet was parched, his stomach felt nauseous, and his legs were sore and tingling. Fidget slowed down wheezing, much to Professor Ratigan's disapproval. He hopped off the cycle and gestured both palms toward Olivia. "We ... we have to ... lighten da _load_!"

"_Oohh_, you want to _lighten_ the _load_," Ratigan replied with a wry smile. "_Excellent_ idea!"

Fidget snickered wickedly as he gazed at Olivia. How _amusing _it would be to watch the little brat _drown_. He _lavished_ in the daydream … until he felt Ratigan's hands seize his large ears.

"No, not _me_!" Fidget cried, learning too late that Ratigan meant to throw _him_ overboard.. "I can't fly! I can't flyyyyyyyy!"

Fidget's mind was seized with fright when his attempts to fly came to no avail. But the realization of Ratigan's betrayal scared him the most. After four years of faithful service to the professor, he was tossed out like a bag of dirty laundry. His body collided into _Thames_ with a deafening splash.

"NOOO!"

Fidget looked around flabbergasted. He felt his face and arms. He was dry. There was no River Thames, no Professor Ratigan, and certainly no Olivia Flaversham. It was only a bedroom ... It was only a dream ...

Ever since Lacey's death, Fidget could do nothing but contemplate on all that happened. On the night of the funeral, he kept a safe distance as he followed Constable Smith and Deniece to the _Westminster _grounds. Deniece had Dr. Hemingway look after him that night, but he crept out the window (the bed was occupied by two pillows hidden in the blanket). Fidget watched as the funeral took place outside. Disguised as an old lady, he stood among the crowd. The echo of weeping made him shudder. Many mourners came to pay respects to Lacey. What was so special about _her_, he wondered?

Not too far from his sight, Deniece stood closer to the coffin, dressed in black. Fidget's eyes were fixed on her the whole time. She wept like the rest of the crowd, yet something particular about her sorrow gripped his chest like a sharp hook. Deniece cupped her mouth with her hand and trembled so uncontrollably she fell to her knees. Was she getting sick? He watched Constable Smith lift her to her feet. She could hardly walk without Constable Smith's assistance. And Fidget could only stand there and watch.

After that night, Fidget couldn't keep his eyes off Deniece. She couldn't wash dishes without absentmindedly breaking one, cursing. She hardly noticed that Fidget was around, unless he made himself present. When he did, Deniece cursed him out. But what was even more inexplicable was that Fidget found himself speaking a language that wasn't his own. Whenever Deniece wept, the words "Aw, _come on_! You can't keep cryin' _forever_!" escaped his lips. Fidget clasped his hand over his mouth, surprised by this new tongue (as was Deniece).

Now Fidget found himself back in the guestroom. Many times he wanted to leave and many times he found himself back on her doorstep. He couldn't go back to the Professor. If he knew Fidget were still alive, he would have the bat killed … or _tortured_. Yet staying with Deniece would unearth his criminal history. Fidget covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. He was never so befuddled in his whole life!

"So you're awake?"

Fidget was greeted by Deniece's presence. Her face was as soft and warm as her green eyes. Fidget couldn't look at her without the corners of his lips trembling.

"I brought some tea and bread for you," she said, placing a tray on his lap.

"I'm ... not hungry," Fidget uttered in a coy tone.

But Deniece gestured her hands toward the tray, giving him such a cheerless stare that made Fidget shrink. He broke off a piece of the loaf and chewed it. He wanted to protest, but couldn't think of a word to say. He simply ate and drank while avoiding eye contact.

"You're a funny little man," Deniece chuckled.

Fidget ears perked up. "Wha'ddya mean _funny_?"

"The way you respond," Deniece pointed out. "You avoid looking at me, as if you did something _bad_."

Fidget abruptly gulped his last bite of bread. "Hey, I'm _clean_!" he blurted uncomfortably.

"I never said you weren't," Deniece replied in a nonchalant tone.

Fidget made no reply, regretting his outburst.

"Dear God, it's almost 6 o'clock!" Deniece said abruptly as she looked at the mantel clock in the partlor. "I should get to work!"

"At _Da Rat Trap_?" asked Fidget.

"How did you know?" Deniece gasped.

"Just a guess."

"Well, never mind," sighed Deniece. "I have to go."

"Wait a minute!" Fidget blurted. "I comin' with you."

Deniece abruptly halted in her tracks. "I don't think that's appropriate, _Monsieur_ Fidget. Besides, you've outlived your stay here. You're free to go home now."

"_What_?" Fidget gasped, grabbing her wrist. "You're gonna cast me out, just like _dat_?"

Deniece shook her arm from his grip and spoke with a slightly raised voice. "Let me remind you that I _hardly_ know you! And I _don't _approve of a man pulling my arm like a doorbell! I'm _not_ a piece of property."

"Dat's not what I meant, Niecy!" Fidget uttered in an offended tone.

"Then _what_ did you mean?"

"I mean it's not natural for a woman to go alone! I try to be _nice_, and _dis_ is how I'm paid for it?" Shocked by his reply, Fidget quickly covered his mouth. He did it _again_!

"You're … that serious about coming with me?" Deniece uttered with a surprised look on her face.

"Of course, I'm _serious_," Fidget lied.

Deniece contemplated on Fidget's remark, heaving a hesitant sigh. "Well … I _suppose_ …"

Fidget sat at a table by himself, his chin resting on his hands. In front of him was a tankard of beer, but he didn't have the urge to drink. He spent the whole time, drumming his webbed fingers on the table. What kind of work did Deniece do anyway, he wondered? Echoes of jeers filled the room when performers came on stage. Fidget couldn't blame the audience. That dim-witted octopus with his humdrum juggling was one of them. Who wanted to see _that_!

As he took a sip of beer, the mouse pianist played a jazzy tune. Fidget's ears perked up. He knew that some female was going to sing. Was it that white show mouse, Kitty? Through the curtains, he could make out a silhouette of a tall figure with a top hat. No, it wasn't Kitty. As the curtains drew open, Fidget noted the back of a dark-furred bat with butter-toned hair.

_Butter-toned hair_!

Fidget kept his eyes fixed on her. Could it _be_? The bat on the stage stood as still as a pillar. She was dressed in a black suit. Her blonde hair was pinned and covered under the top hat, with the exception of her side strands hanging loose. Then she turned her head toward the crowd. As soon as he saw a pair of cat-green eyes, Fidget knew who it was … _Deniece_ …

_"Goodbye._

_No use leading without chins._

_This is where are story ends,_

_Never lovers, ever friends."_

Fidget's ears perked up as a sweet and sultry sound articulated from Deniece's lips. That _voice_! It was the same voice he heard from the upstairs hallway.

"_I give you bluebirds_

_In the spring_

_To give your heart_

_A song to sing_

_And then a kiss,_

_But more than this_

_I wish you love!"_

Fidget kept his eyes fixed on Deniece as she leapt off the stage and onto tables. She swung her cane as she danced and sang. Fidget could feel the triumphant tone of her voice surge through his body like wind. Then Deniece landed on _his _table. His gaze was so fixed on her that he absentmindedly spilled his beer on his shirt. Before he could utter a complaint, he felt a webbed hand under his chin, lifting his face toward its owner.

_"My breaking heart_

_And I agree_

_That you and I_

_Could never, ever be_

_So with my best,_

_My very best,_

_I set you free!"_

Deniece hopped back on stage, leaving Fidget as dumb as a mute. What kind of woman had a voice so powerful enough to steal his own?

"_I wish you wealth_

_I wish you health_

_I wish YOU … LOVE!"_

After all the performances were over, _The Rat Trap_ was deserted. Only Fidget remained, waiting for Deniece to show up. Suddenly, he spotted her coming from the backstage door. As she walked in his direction, Fidget pointed his finger stiffly at her. "_You_!"

Deniece gave him a peculiar stare. "_Me_?"

"Dat _voice_!" Fidget replied.

"What _are_ you talking about, _Monsieur_ Fidget?"

Fidget told her about the singing voice he heard in her house. "Well of _course_ it was _me_, silly," Deniece chuckled. "You were expecting a _ghost_, perhaps?"

Fidget didn't respond. He had a sneaky feeling that this lady was playing head games with him. But then he found his tongue again. "I can't seem to figure you out."

Deniece crossed her arms. "What do you mean by _that_?"

Fidget stumbled upon words as he spoke. "Well … You're dis _Queen_ _Bee _at da house … Dhen I hear a singin' dat I can't get outta my head… And-and you nearly crushed my wings and dhen fix dem back up … and now _dis_! I … I don't understand! Where do you _come_ from?"

Deniece crossed her arms and gave Fidget a wicked grin. "You're _afraid_ of me, aren't you?"

"I am _not_!" Fidget blurted in an offended tone.

Deniece uttered a melodious chuckle that made Fidget clenched his fists angrily. She was _laughing_ at him! How dare a woman laugh at _him_! Ashamed of his wounded pride, he sat on the floor, pouting. Deniece's laughter ceased when she saw the hurt look in his eyes. Fearing that her laughter was the cause of it, she knelt to his level. She patted his right arm. "You know, you're very cute."

Fidget's ears perked up at her remark. "Wha … _What_?"

Deniece gave him a warm smile. "I can't figure _you_ out either. But there's something … _sweet _about you."

Because he lost his tongue to speak, Fidget avoided her gaze. His attempts to remain angry failed at the temptation of Deniece's touch. He found himself thinking about his years of piracy upon _The Bloody Rose_. The anchor often dropped whenever it stopped by the docks. Not too far from docks were taverns, where he often went to for drink, gambling, and women. Nothing could calm him down like that of a woman's touch.

"So you want to know who I am?" Deniece heaved a sigh of surrender. "Alright, I'll show you … but on _one_ condition."

"And what's dat?" said Fidget.

"I want to know who _you _are."

Know who _he_ was? Fidget didn't like that idea. Nevertheless, he assumed that he could come up with some good lies. "It's a deal."

"_Here kitty, kitty, kitty! Time for mouse chow!"_

While dragging Mousetoria by the ropes that bound her, Fidget merrily hummed a tune. The Professor would soon become king of mousedom and create a new world. No longer would Fidget be treated like some _small_, _ugly_, and _deficient_ creature. No longer would he have to worry about Basil of Baker Street chasing him and ruining everything. Fidget would _finally_ have his place in society. All that was left to do is throw the _fatty_ queen in the cat's mouth.

Unfortunately, handling the queen was no easy task. She was too heavy to drag across the floor (Fidget's arms ached so much that he was afraid that they would tear from his body). He resorted to carrying _her_ the rest of the way, even though he underwent the torture of being hit on the head with her heels. Upon reaching the balcony, Fidget lifted up Mousetoria until his arms were straight as poles. Within a few seconds, he would be _rid_ of her. He attempted to launch her into Felicia's open mouth … but launched _himself_ instead.

Fidget hurriedly flapped his wings, barely escaping the clamp of the cat's monstrous jaws. "Down, down, kitty! _Down_!" he cried as he hung by the balcony with his webbed hands. Just then, he felt a hand take hold of his wrist. Fidget sighed with relief. Someone had arrived just in time for his rescue. When he looked to see who his rescuer was, he saw a familiar face. It was Professor Ratigan.

"Boss!" Fidget blurted with a smile.

"Didn't I specifically say _no mistakes_?"

Ratigan's reply caught Fidget off-guard. "_What_?"

"You failed again, Fidget," Ratigan replied. "And you know very well what I do to failures."

Fidget shook his head in disbelief. "Wha … What are you sayin'?"

Holding his hand firmly on Fidget's wrist, Ratigan pried him away from the balcony railing. "You've disappointed me for the _last time_, Fidget! I've no further use for you, anymore!"

Fidget panicked. "No! No, _please_!"

Ratigan paid no heed to his pleas. He released his grip on the bat and watched him fall into Felicia's mouth. Covering his eyes, Fidget uttered a terrified scream … and landed upon a mattress.

Fidget was back in the guestroom again. The door opened and Deniece stood outside the room. She was still in her nightdress, sleepily rubbing her eyes. "Looks like I got up just in time," she uttered through a yawn. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um … yeah," Fidget replied hesitantly.

Deniece stretched her wings. "Come into the parlor. I want to show you something."

Fidget followed the lady bat with curiosity. Deniece motioned him to sit on the couch. A large book sat on the table in front of him. Deniece opened it to reveal a series of photographs. Granting him permission to look at them, Deniece placed the book on Fidget's lap. One by one, he carefully examined them. Each one contained Deniece, in different attires. One showed her in a Baroque-style dress with her hair pinned up and curled while another showed her in a prince's outfit with her hair cropped off. What was curious about them, Fidget realized, was that all of them showed her on some kind of stage. When he figured out that the setting was a theatre, Fidget gazed up at Deniece in awe. "You're … an _actress_?"

"When I was in _The Mousedemonium Theatre_," Deniece replied. "I was sixteen years old."

Fidget didn't reply to her comment, but pointed at the picture of her in a prince's outfit. "What were you suppose to be in _dis_ one?"

Deniece smiled. "The Nutcracker Prince."

Fidget nodded his head with interest, even though he wondered what the hell a Nutcracker Prince was. "So you played _men_ too?"

Deniece nodded.

Fidget laughed. "_Damn_, it's _funny_!"

"Why do you say that?" Deniece asked curiously.

"A _girl_ playin' a _guy_," Fidget replied through giggles. "It's just … _funny_!"

"There weren't enough male actors," Deniece added. "And I happened to be tall enough."

Fidget gazed at each photograph with fixed interest. Deniece became interested in his strange behavior. "You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?"

The pirate bat gave her a guilty look. "Ummm …" was all he could say.

Deniece smiled. "Well, I suppose the conversations can wait for our outing."

Fidget gave her a stupefied look. "An _outin'_?"

"A picnic at St. James Park," she replied. "I originally planned this for Lacey … before she died. But you seem available."

"_Me_? You want _me_ to come along?"

"Lacey was right about one thing," Deniece said, disregarding Fidget's last remark. "I do need some fresh air after all those nights at _The Rat Trap_. It looks like you could use some fresh air too."

Fidget's surprised expression had not left his face. "B-but … why _me_?"

Deniece chuckled. "Well why _not_, silly? What have you got to lose? Besides, you can tell me a little bit about yourself while we enjoy the afternoon."

Fidget gulped. Talk about _himself_? The thought of it made him shudder. What could he say? Nevertheless, he contemplated on her remark. Then he realized that she was right. What did he have to lose? Besides, the journey would give him enough time to come up with a good story. Fidget shrugged his shoulders. "Well … alright."

**Chapter 2: _Picnics and Outings_**

St. James Park was a vast area with tall green grass, overlooking Buckingham Palace. The site of the palace made Fidget wince. He automatically remembered the night of the Diamond Jubilee when he _almost_ got rid of Queen Mousetoria. Why the hell did he have to be _reminded _of it? And why the hell did he agree to come in the first place?

Fidget and Deniece sat underneath a human-sized bench. Deniece wore a simple dress that reached the middle of her thighs along with a fur coat and simple dress shoes. Fidget wore an elegant suit, a tie, and an English cap that Deniece made for him. He looked at his outfit and winced. He _hated_ fancy suits. It reminded him too much of snobbish, upper-class folk. What'll she do next, he wondered? _Drown _him in sweet-smelling perfume?

The scent of wet greenery, complimented by the cool breeze, surrounded both of them. Deniece found it to be very refreshing. Although Fidget considered it too sweet for his expectations, it helped him to relax. It both annoyed and pleased him at the same time. Why should he be so calm, he wondered? Where was the strong scent of fuming cigars from _The Rat Trap _that he craved so much? How he _longed_ for a good smoke.

Deniece had two picnic baskets placed beneath them. She figured that it was essential to have a second one since Fidget ate so much. "You must be hungry. I brought some fresh-baked bread, kippers, cheese and wine."

She served Fidget's plate and placed it on his lap. His stomach growled tremendously. He snatched a few kippers from his plate and devoured them greedily. Then he devoured some cheese and bread and guzzled half a bottle of wine. A giggle escaped Deniece's throat, causing Fidget to stop eating.

"What's so funny?" he uttered through gritted teeth.

"You're a real _carrion crow_," Deniece replied.

"I was hungry," Fidget replied.

"You act as if you haven't eaten at all."

"I get hungry easily."

Deniece placed her plate of food on her lap. She nibbled at a piece of kipper contently. Fidget couldn't help but look at her. Unlike him, she ate very slow and took tiny bites. At the same time, Deniece's eyes were fixed on the scenery before her. Fidget studied her profile as he continued to eat. Her butter-toned hair was a series of harp strings plucked by the gentle breeze. How the pure contrasted with her brown fur! Was that hair real, Fidget wondered? What would it _feel_ like? Mesmerized, Fidget reached his webbed hand to touch it. His finger came so close to her side-strand. Then Deniece quickly turned her head, catching him off-guard.

"What are you _doing_?"

Fidget gave her a dumb look. "Huh?"

Deniece heaved an impatient sigh. "_What are you doing!_?"

Fidget began to feel sweaty. "I thought I saw somethin' stuck in your hair," he lied. "It was … some kind of leaf. It's gone now."

Deniece crossed her arms suspiciously. "You're _lying _to me; I don't like _liars_!"

Fidget gave a surrendering sigh. _Damn!_ "OK, I was tryin' to touch your hair! I didn't know if it was real or not."

"Well of course it's _real_, stupid!" Deniece replied in a short tone. "I don't wear wigs, unless I'm _acting_. Why do men have to touch a woman's hair like she's some kind of pet?"

"_Hey_, I wasn't t'inkin' dat at all!" Fidget replied defensively.

"Well, what _were _you thinking?"

"I … just like hair, _dat's all_!" Fidget retorted. "Why da hell are you being snooty! I thought women _like_ it when men touch dheir hair! Da women I went out with liked stuff like dat! I like da way hair feels! It's _immaculate_! You were lookin' so sad and lonely a few minutes ago! I would t'ink you'd be happy if I felt your hair!"

Fidget quickly clasped his mouth. His cheeks were as pink as a porcelain doll. He couldn't believe he was telling _her _all this! She wasn't _that_ attractive anyway! Embarrassed by his sudden outburst, he sat back down with his arms crossed, pouting. He tried to look proud, but he couldn't hide the pinkness on his cheeks. Deniece's face also turned pink. It was the first time she ever heard a man call touching hair _immaculate_. Part of her wanted to strike him for his shallow perception of women. But another part of her felt touched by Fidget's surprising concern. She crept toward him, kneeling to his height.

"_Pardonnez_," she cooed as she patted him on the shoulder.

Fidget brushed his shoulder away from Deniece's hand. He wasn't going to give in _this time_! He had too much pride and he wanted to _keep _it that way. But Deniece didn't give up so easily. She persisted on getting him to smile. Because Fidget kept jerking away, she gently stroked the side of his neck with her webbed finger. It gave Fidget such a tickle that he jerked away, clasping his neck.

"What are you doin'!" he blurted.

Deniece didn't answer. Instead, she stroked his neck again and began stroking his sides. The tingling sensation made Fidget submit into an involuntary giggle.

"Niecy, stop dat!"

He crawled away to avoid her poking and prodding, but Deniece pulled him over by the ankle and started tickling his ribs. Poor Fidget laughed helplessly as he tried with pitiful effort to free himself from Deniece's grasp. He looked and sounded like a little school boy. Then a satisfied Deniece released him, letting him catch his breath.

"What was … dat for!" Fidget panted.

"To get you to smile, mon chere," Deniece said with a wink.

Although a part of him felt embarrassed, Fidget couldn't help but think about Deniece's remark. In truth, he felt really touched. His eyes were fixed on Deniece and he was catching his breath. _Mon chere_, she said? He didn't know what that meant, but he assumed it was a term of endearment. No one ever tried to cheer him up or make him smile either.

Suddenly, a mischievous grin came on Fidget's face. As he fixed his eyes on Deniece, he crept toward her with his hands raised to the level of his chin. It looked as if he was getting ready to chase her. A childish smile spread across Deniece's face as she playfully backed away … and ran.

The two bats spent the whole afternoon at _St. James Park_, engaging in horseplay. During their walk back home, they engaged in conversation. Fidget learned that Deniece was born in Paris to a middle-class couple. Her father was a Belgian painter; her mother was a Moroccan healer. Both parents were killed by thieves not too long after arriving in London and passing by _Big Ben_. Deniece was forced to live on the streets. She came across a middle-class mouse couple who took pity on her and adopted her. She was a pupil of Father Richards, a reserved priest at _Westminster Abbey _with worldly knowledge and a large heart. As for Fidget, he simply listened to Deniece's story. He found it amusing. She told it in such a way that Fidget couldn't help but chuckle. When it came to talking about himself, Fidget made every effort to limit the amount of information he gave. He simply made up a lie that he was found by a traveling seafarer, whom he worked for all his life, but wound up in London after a terrible storm sunk the ship. He lost his leg from a shark bite when he accidentally fell overboard one night and tried to climb back up. The only truth he told her was that he woke up with no recollection of memory and that _Fidget _was a _given name _to him. Fidget half-expected Deniece to pick up on the lie and question him further. He made sure to prepare himself to come up with an answer to any question that confronted him. Fortunately for him, Deniece didn't question him. It all seemed too good to be true. Fidget figured in his mind that Deniece _knew _he was lying but said nothing.

They arrived at the door of Deniece's house. She withdrew the key from her coat pocket to unlock the door.

"So … how did you end up in _Da Rat Trap_?" asked Fidget.

Deniece heaved a sigh as she walked inside and Fidget followed. "It all started when my adopted mother fell ill. I was taking care of her … until she died. Then _The Mousedemonium Theatre _closed down. I was out of a job and no other place would hire a bat … except for _The Rat Trap_."

A small frown came on Fidget's face. "You _hate_ your job?"

"No, I don't_ hate _it," said Deniece. "I actually like singing on stage and hearing the applause. It's just the men that I hate."

Fidget gulped nervously. "_Men_?"

Deniece nodded. "Every night I step out the door to go home, a man always waits by it. They assume that I'm a simpletonjust because I give a good show. The only learn the hard way when I give them a black eye. I'm _not_ a pet and I detest any foolish man who treats women in that way!"

Her reply made Fidget wince in discomfort. She suddenly changed the subject. "By the way, I want thank you, _Monsieur _Fidget."

A puzzled expression came on Fidget's face. "_Me_? You want to … t'ank _me_?"

Deniece nodded. "It has been so long since I've had a man kept me company. I had a marvelous time at the park."

Fidget placed his hand on his chest in a sheepish manner. _Thank him_? Since when had anyone _thanked _him for anything? "Oh … don't mention it, Niecy."

Deniece smiled. It was such a beaming smile! Fidget couldn't help but notice it. He couldn't remember a time when anyone smiled at him _that way_. He was so mesmerized by it that he was unprepared for what Deniece had in store.

"Why don't you go upstairs and wash up?" she said.

Fidget broke out of his daze. "Huh?"

Deniece chuckled at the site of Fidget's dumb look. "It's almost dinner time. Why don't you wash up while I prepare dinner?" She rushed up stairs then came back with a pile of clothes in her hands. She placed them in Fidget's hands. "Good thing I made enough clothes to fit your size. You can change into these when you're done."

Without a word, Fidget walked up the stairs and into the washroom. As he placed the clothes on the towel rack, he stopped short to recollect what happened. What the _hell_ was he doing? He's a bloody pirate, for God's sake! A grown man (well, a short one)! So why was he taking orders from a woman like she's suppose to be his mother? Fidget pulled up a stool to reach the level the mirror above the sink. He began cursing himself as he gazed at his reflection. "You _stupid_ _ass_!" he blurted. "What da hell are you _t'inkin'_!"

Fidget clutched the hairs on his head in frustration, cursing himself for his foolishness. Then he stopped short when he pondered over the events that took place at _St. James's Park_. Deniece had managed to cheer him up. It was the first time anyone ever tried to cheer _him _up. Tranquility overcame Fidget once again. He gazed back into the mirror. "But, I kinda had … a good time."

He could think of nothing else but Deniece. He thought of his own arm around her slender waist. He thought of his own fingers running through tufts of that butter-toned hair. Then he shook his head as if to come out of a daze. "_Damn_ you, Niecy! _Damn you_!"

Frustrated and confused, Fidget disrobed and turned on the bathtub's faucet.

Deniece had finished setting the table when Fidget came downstairs. The peg-legged bat's jaw hung open at the site of the room. The white walls were adorned with paintings of mothers with their children encased in oval frames. The dinner table was a long rectangle, able to fit as many as twenty guests. It was fancifully decorated with a satin tablecloth, two plates of sausages-and-mash accompanied with two glasses of wine, two candles, and a bouquet of pink roses in the center. The fanciness made Fidget feel inferior, especially in his dark-gray shirt and pants.

"Well don't stand there, _gawking_," Deniece chuckled. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

Make himself _comfortable_? How could he be comfortable in a room that looks so _neat_? He climbed the chair in the right corner to sit in. Unfortunately, the table was at the level of his neck. Fidget crossed his arms in an annoyed manner. He felt like a teddy bear in a dollhouse's dining room. How _embarrassing_! If _only_ he weren't so _short_. Deniece found the site so amusing that she giggled. Fidget winced. She was laughing at him _again_! He hated that.

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I'll fetch some pillows from the parlor."

It didn't take long for Deniece to return with three couch pillows. She handed them to Fidget, who stood up while Deniece placed them on the chair. Then she made herself comfortable at the head chair right next to Fidget.

"Now we're ready for grace."

Deniece took hold of Fidget's hands and lowered her head in prayer. Fidget couldn't help but notice that she was uttering prayer in her French tongue. What was she saying! He felt inferior when someone spoke in a language he couldn't understand. Yet, the sound of Deniece's French sent a tingle down his spine ... a _good_ one. When Deniece stopped speaking, she allowed Fidget to commence eating.

Fidget was about to devour the food greedily (as was his usual way) until he realized that he was in a fancy place, with Deniece watching him. Instead, he eyed her eating method and tried to mimic it. Fidget's thoughts wandered over the night he saw her perform in _The Rat Trap_. He decided that it was his turn to start a conversation. "So, how do you do it?"

"How do I do what?" asked a confused Deniece.

"Dat night at _Da Rat Trap_," Fidget replied. "How do you sing like dat?"

Deniece finished chewing a piece of sausage before she spoke again. "I don't know how to explain it." She took a deep breath. "Just the moment before I sing, I think of … everything. My parents, my friends, all the joy, all the sorrow … and I just let it out. It's a stormy wind and it collides with a sailing ship."

Fidget's ears perked up at the sound of her explanation. Stormy wind collides with a sailing ship? Well, that was new.

"Singing is very spiritual to me," Deniece continued. "My eyes are too dry for crying and I've … become so numb. So singing is the only way I know how to feel more alive. Sometimes I exhaust myself from it and I have to rest. The first time I sang at the theatre, I fainted after the performance."

Fidget uttered a sheepish chuckle. "You're _amazin'_."

Deniece gave him a small smile. "Oh?"

"You talk smart but you're not boring," said Fidget. "You're so classy but you're funny too. Dhere's nothin' you can't do … It's just … _amazin'_!"

Deniece let out a hearty giggle and covered her face. Fidget noticed that her cheeks turned pink. He found the site so hilarious that he couldn't help but giggle. In fact, the two bats couldn't look at each other without bursting into laughter.

Deniece made an attempt to speak though a series of giggles. "For a simple feast … it certainly is merrier … than any event at Buckingham Palace."

Fidget laughed so hard that he could only respond with a nod.

"Speaking of which," Deniece continued, "did you know that a fiasco occurred there during the Queen's Diamond Jubilee?"

Fidget's laughter ceased. Did she know something he didn't? She was never there when he helped Ratigan carry out the plan … was she? Nevertheless, Fidget made an attempt not to look so nervous. "Yeah, a little."

"Professor Ratigan and his men were the cause of it," Deniece continued.

"Oh, I didn't know dat," Fidget lied, hoping that Deniece wouldn't figure it out.

Deniece heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, it's a good thing we don't to worry about him ever again."

Fidget nodded absentmindedly, until Deniece's last comment registered in his mind. "Ever again? Wha-what's _dat _suppose to mean?"

Deniece gave him a concerned look. "Haven't you read the papers? He's _dead_."

Fidget felt his heart plunge like a ship's anchor. He absentmindedly dropped his silverware on the floor. The _Professor_ … _dead_! That can't be! He stared at Deniece with wide, horrified eyes. "H-how did he … d-die?"

Deniece heaved a sigh before replying. "According to the papers, Professor Ratigan and Basil of Baker Street were in a battle at the top of _Big Ben_. Both fell off at the loud thrum of the bell … but only Basil survived. Ratigan's body was found at the foot of _Big Ben_."

Fidget suddenly felt his heart punch so hard against his chest. All that echoed in his mind was the news of Professor Ratigan's death. He picked up the glass of wine, hoping that it would calm his nerves down. However, Fidget wasn't prepared for what came next.

"I also remember something about an employee," Deniece continued.

Fidget's arm stiffened before the glass could touch his lips. The pounding of his heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. "_Employee_?" he uttered, trying to cover his fear. "Wha-what employee?"

"Ratigan's _right-hand _man," Deniece replied. "The papers didn't say a name; only that his body was never found. I heard rumors from folks I passed by on the street. They say that he's still alive and likely to be sent to _Newgate_ if he gets caught."

Suddenly the sound of broken glass startled the two bats. When Deniece recovered from her fright, she gave a horrified look at Fidget. He didn't realize what Deniece feared until she pointed at his hand. It was soaked with spilt wine and blood. When Fidget went to touch it, he flinched. A burning sting suddenly surged throughout his whole hand. Deniece grabbed him by his good hand and rushed up to the washroom upstairs. She held Fidget's cut hand under running water to clean the wound. The poor bat winced and moaned at the sting of his right hand. Afterward, she took a long, satin cloth to bandage it. Fidget's wounded hand trembled until Deniece's held it in hers. The gentle glide of her thumb upon his palm tingled. Deniece cradled it like a child. Fidget liked it. How delightful it felt to be _touched_ by a woman once again, he thought.

"Wait for me in the parlor," she uttered in a low voice. "I'll go and clean up the mess."

Wait in the parlor? Fidget felt a hint of unease returning. What was he waiting for, he wondered? He obeyed Deniece's wishes without question. He didn't want to give her a reason to be suspicious.

As he lied on the couch, he thought about the Professor. He let out a low, uneasy sigh as he buried his face in his hands. _Professor Ratigan is dead_. The sentence repeated in his head like the key of a wind-up toy. Then he thought about his most recent dream. Ratigan had let him fall inside the cat's mouth to die. Was all this some kind of warning? What if Deniece found out the truth about him? Would she have him sent to _Newgate_?

Fidget felt something touch his shoulder that interrupted his thoughts, giving him such a flinch.

"_Easy_, _easy_."

He looked up. Deniece knelt by the couch, surprised by his fright. Fidget suddenly let out a compulsive, high-pitched giggle. Fidget rolled to his side as his whole body twitched with laughter. His attempts to look Deniece in the eye enabled him continue laughing. Deniece's thoughts to ask him about his fright were forgotten when she found herself under the spell of his compulsive giggling.

When he began to calm down, Fidget realized that his sides hurt and his cheeks were wet. He brushed his tear-stained face with the back of his bandaged hand. "Dat kinda … felt good," he uttered breathlessly.

"Yes it did," Deniece replied in the same breathless tone.

The two bats began to stare at each other. Fidget never really paid attention to Deniece's green eyes until he found himself looking into them. They were a set of two shining onyxes, yet their expression was deep as blue water, swimming in Fidget's chest. But they looked very sad. Fidget couldn't understand why.

Deniece's coyish chuckle interrupted his thoughts. She lowered her head to avoid his eyes. "Well, aren't you going to say anything? Or would you rather study me like a cat?"

Fidget didn't hesitate in offering a reply. "Why are you so sad?"

His question almost caught Deniece off-guard. "I look sad?"

Fidget nodded. "Your eyes always look sad. Why?"

Deniece let out a heavy sigh. She waited until she was able to respond. "I've been with a few men before. _Not one _of them really _looked_ at me the way you do." She let out another heavy sigh. This time her tone held a slight tremble. "Then again, my men friends never showed _real_ interest in me. I'm always a _goddess on a pedestal_, a _vision of beauty_ … but never an _equal_."

A confused frown came on Fidget's face. "But … your eyes, your hair, your face … I'd t'ink guys flock to you."

Deniece huffed in exasperation. "They _flock _to me _because_ of my eyes, hair, and face! A woman is nothing but a _eyes, hair, and face _to them, and sometimes _dress _and _legs_! She's _suppose to be a delicate, simple-minded, doll to take to bed_. But if she's strong and thinks for herself, she's a _harpy_, a _demon_, and …" Her voice trailed off when she noticed Fidget's offended expression. Deniece crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously. "So you think so too, _don't_ you?"

"What's wrong with likin' a _eyes, hair, face, _and _legs_!" Fidget blurted defensively.

Deniece's mouth hung open in shock. "Oh, you're a womanizer, aren't you!"

"So I like _women_!" Fidget interrupted in an offended tone. "Yes, I like lookin' at pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty face, fancy dresses, and beautiful legs! I'm a _man_! What do you expect!"

"Why, you little _pig_!" Deniece blurted. "You _chauvinistic_, little _pig_!"

"Well what's _wrong_ with dat!" Fidget yelled in frustration. "I thought women liked bein' looked at! But you act like it's a damn curse!"

"And _you_ act as if a woman who thinks hurts your damn _pride_!"

The two bats suddenly stopped when they both realized they were arguing. A frustrated Fidget buried his face in the couch pillow while Deniece turned her face away, forcing back angry tears. Fidget let the pillow fall to the floor to take a look at her. The site of Deniece's composure made him regret his words. He breathed deeply to calm down before he found his tongue again. "Den again, women never liked _me _anyway," he uttered in a low tone. "_Too borin'_, dey say. _Too shallow and stupid_. I … don't blame dem."

Deniece suddenly found the courage to look at him. Fidget sat up cross-legged and stared at the floor. She watched him twiddle his fingers as he contemplated with a guilty frown on his face. Deniece couldn't stand the site of it any longer. She sat next to him, placed her arm around his shoulders, and spoke in a gentle tone. "You don't know _who_ you are … _do _you?"

Fidget gazed at Deniece with blank, yet surprised eyes. How did she guess?

"You must be very frightened and lonely."

Fidget's eyes fell back on the floor again. All of a sudden, he felt a terrible ache that he couldn't understand. It was as if a giant rock was crushing his heart. Then his whole body fell under the spell of an involuntary tremble. His spine prickled with chills and he found himself clutching his arms. What was making him tremble so badly? The harder he tried to think about it, the more his mind went blank … and the more he trembled.

Deniece looked at Fidget with a hint of fear. Before she could ask him what was going on, Fidget told her that he was feeling very ill and tired. Fortunately, it was enough to convince Deniece to send him to bed and leave him to his thoughts. Although relieved that Deniece wasn't watching him, Fidget couldn't stop his body from shaking. He clutched at the sides of his pillow while his face was buried in it. Was Deniece starting to figure out who he was? The thought made his heart sink. "Don't let her find out," he repeated to himself. "Please, _please_. Don't let her find out."

**Chapter 3: _Sunday Mass at Westminster Abbey_**

When he opened his eyes, Fidget found himself surrounded by fog. _Fog_? He rose to his foot and peg, then felt the ground sway, nearly throwing him off balance. The floor was made of strong wood, yet it felt so thin underneath. He looked around. His boundaries were limited by wooden walls that reached the level of his chin. Behind him was a wooden hut that looked empty. He looked up. Two tall poles with shredded, red fabric loomed over him like trees. Where _was_ he? He heard the sound of splashing. Fidget rushed to the wall to climb over it … then stopped short when he saw water that extended in a limitless fashion. He suddenly realized where he was. It was a pirate's ship. _The Bloody Rose_.

"But … dat's not possible!" Fidget stammered. "_Da Bloody Rose _was destroyed. I _know_ it! It was in _pieces_ when I last saw it."

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps made Fidget's large ears perk up. The sound was distant, but he could hear it getting louder. An immense chill ran down his spine. Someone was here. Fidget slowly turned his head … and saw a finger pointed at his face.

"_Coward_ …"

A confused Fidget looked up. It was a tall, scrawny mouse nude from the waist up. His body was tanned with scars, as if he'd been beaten. Fidget found himself cowering from the mouse as he backed away. Then he bumped into something behind him … and felt something grab both his wings.

"_Demon_ …"

Fidget couldn't turn around to see his other visitor as his wings were suddenly bound behind his back. He looked up to see the face of what looked like a priest, looming over him. Fidget squirmed and struggled to free himself from the mouse's grip. "Let me go!" he demanded. Then Fidget found himself surrounded by mice, slowly approaching him.

"_Liar … Thief … Murderer …_"

All he could hear were voices, echoing in his ears. It made him panic. Angry mice were crowding him, uttering cruel words. "No!" he cried. "I didn't do anyt'ing … I didn't!"

"_Kill him … make him suffer …"_

Hands crawled over Fidget's upper torso, ripping off his shirt and scarf. He felt his arms being squeezed and twisted. Pain coursed through his crippled wing. "_Ouch!" _he cried. _"Stop it!_"

The mouse that held him turned him sideways until his back was exposed. One of the mice began tanning his body, making Fidget scream in agony. He begged and pled for the mice to stop; they continued. More cruel words echoed in his large ears.

"_NOOOO!_"

Fidget opened his eyes. He was back in Deniece's guestroom again. Another dream … He sighed with relief as he allowed his body to fall back on the bed. He heard the door open and saw Deniece come in. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Fidget replied in a dumb tone. "Why do you ask?"

"I heard screaming a few minutes ago," Deniece answered. "What happened?"

"It was … a bad dream," Fidget said in an uneasy tone.

"Must've been a frightful one," said Deniece. "Your cry sounded as if you were in danger."

Fidget didn't comment, not knowing whether he should answer that statement or not. He only hoped that Deniece wouldn't question him further about the dream. But instead, Deniece changed the subject.

"Today's Sunday," she began. "I'm to sing with the choir at _Westminster Abbey_."

"Oh, dat's nice," Fidget replied, trying to keep the conversation polite. "Is it 'dose songs you were practicin'? Da ones I can't understand?"

"You mean the _Kyrie _and _Gloria_?" said Deniece. "Yes, those are the songs. I take it they're to your liking?"

Fidget uttered a sheepish chuckle. "Well, I'm not fond of church songs, or songs dat aren't in English."

Deniece gave him a curious smile. "Why don't you accompany me to Westminster Abbey then? I will be singing those songs."

Fidget's shy smile began to droop. "_Me_, go to _church_?"

Deniece nodded, uncertain as to why the idea bothered him. "Is something wrong?"

Fidget pondered for the right words to say. "Well, churches and I … don't really get along," he said. "I t'ink dey're a little … _scary_."

Deniece was surprised by his description. "_Scary_? Why?"

Fidget shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it's just dat dey're so … _big_, and I'm so small. Da music and priests are loud and scary. Even when I go _near_ a church, I begin to choke."

Deniece patted Fidget on the arm. "I don't think you need to worry, _cherie_," she assured him. "_Westminster Abbey _is a safe place and Father Richards is a kind mouse. Besides, he's rather eager to meet you."

Fidget gave Deniece a perplexed look. "Huh?"

"Well, I _mentioned _your name to him," Deniece explained. "And he's rather curious about seeing the man who befriended me since Lacey's death."

Fidget's body perspired. The _priest _wants to _meet __him_! The sound of the idea seemed to make Fidget a little uneasy. Nevertheless, he was curious to hear Deniece sing again. Ever since that night he heard her sing at _The Rat Trap_, he couldn't forget how her voice took control of his mind and body. He just had to know if her voice would affect him the same way this time.

"So, will you come with me?" Deniece asked, waiting for an answer.

Fidget nodded. "Yeah, I'll go."

Upon entering the nave, Fidget's large ears slunk back. Why did he _ever_ agree to do this! The vast amount of tall windows and spear-shaped lanterns loomed over him like eyes. They seemed to be studying his every move and it made Fidget cower like a dog. He was reminded of his dream.

"You see?" Deniece whispered in his ear. "_Westminster Abbey _is a safe place."

A _safe place_! Unfortunately, Fidget didn't agree. It wasn't _safe_! He felt as vulnerable and helpless as a little boy. There was hardly anyone here. He couldn't help but let his eyes dart around, half-expecting hellhounds to pounce on him.

"We're here very early," Deniece assured him. "I'm not even sure if Father Richards is here yet."

Not long after she spoke did Fidget hear footsteps. When he turned to the sound, he saw a mouse approaching in his direction from behind the choir screen. When he came into closer view, Fidget was able to see his features. The mouse was plump and short (although he was still taller than Fidget) and carried a Bible in his hands. He had small eyes, accompanied by half-moon shaped spectacles, a wide face, a balding head, and a long, drooping mustache. Judging by the black robe the mouse wore, Fidget knew that it was a priest.

"Father Richards," Deniece uttered with a smile on her face. She waltzed toward the priest to embrace him. "How good it is to see you again."

Father Richards smiled as he patted her back. "And _how good_ it is to see you in high spirits this evening."

The priest's voice was low and hoarse with old age, yet soft and gentle. It seemed so strange to Fidget. He often thought that priests had harsh, piercing tones.

"I'm truly sorry for the loss of your friend, Lacey," Father Richards said to Deniece. "It's such a crime that a girl _that _young has her life cut short."

"No, it's alright," Deniece assured him. "I'm better now. I just hope those men who killed her are found _soon_."

Father Richards's hand rested on Deniece's hip as he walked with her toward Fidget's direction. "I hear that Constable Smith is on the case?"

Deniece nodded. "He has been so insistent on the idea of looking after me until the culprits are caught. I love Constable Smith very dearly, but he still thinks of me as a little girl. I'm a _grown_ woman now."

Father Richards chuckled. "He only wants to make sure you remain safe and unharmed. After all, he _is _a constable."

"I know," Deniece chuckled. "That's why I kindly said to him, 'Thank you Constable, but I already have a visitor to keep me company.' He didn't question me any further, but I'm certain he's wondering _who_ my visitor is."

Upon noticing Fidget, Father Richards stopped short in his tracks. He looked back at Deniece and gestured to the bat. "I take it _this_ is your visitor?"

Deniece smiled, making the same gesture. "Father Richards, this is my new friend, Fidget. He's the one I found in the River Thames."

The priest extended his hand to the bat. Fidget gazed at Father Richards with both calm and unease. He shyly lifted his webbed hand to the priest, allowing Father Richards to shake it. "Welcome to _Westminster Abbey_, Mr. Fidget," the priest uttered in a warm tone. "Deniece told me that you offered to _stay _with her since the loss of her friend. I can see that she's in happier spirits because you comforted her. A very kindhearted act, I must say."

A _kindhearted _act? Fidget never thought that he was doing anything kind. The idea nearly left him speechless. "Aw, it was nothin'," Fidget replied in a reserved manner, "I _guess_ …"

"Is Sister Ingrid here yet?" Deniece asked Father Richards, changing the subject entirely.

"She's waiting for us in the Sanctuary," replied Father Richards. "Let's go up there so we don't keep her waiting."

Fidget followed Deniece and Father Richards up the metal stairs. His mind pondered as he slowly approached each step. A _kindhearted_ _act_, the priest said? Fidget could hardly believe his ears. Who said anything about being _kindhearted_? He was just … _curious_ about Deniece, that's all. And he never said anything about being Deniece's _friend_. Deniece once described Father Richards as a man with worldly knowledge. This man was supposedly someone who was her _mentor_. But what Fidget saw looked to him like a simple old fool with a very poor judge of character. If the Professor were still alive, he would agree.

Suddenly something caught hold of his peg, causing Fidget to lose his balance. He quickly grabbed the railing to stop from falling. He found himself hanging on for dear life as his body swayed between poles. When he looked to see what he tripped on, he realized that his peg was stuck in a hole from the metal stairs. Father Richards came to his side and pulled the peg out with ease. "Looks like you gave yourself quite a scare, my son." It sounded as if the priest found Fidget's predicament amusing. The bat felt slightly insulted. Father Richards firmly placed his hands on the bat's waste and carried him through the poles. "I should've realized that peg-leg would be a problem on these stairs," said Father Richards. "I'll just carry you myself until we get to the Sanctuary. I assure you that the ground is much _friendlier _for your condition."

Father Richards held Fidget in his arms. Well, _this_ was strange, Fidget thought. This was exactly the same manner in which the Professor used to carry him when he did something _right_ (according to the Professor's view). Fidget couldn't help but utter an uncomfortable smirk under his breath.

When they reached the top, Father Richards placed Fidget on his foot and peg again. He could hardly believe his eyes. The abbey was much bigger than he originally imagined. The Sanctuary was a long room with a chessboard floor and choir stalls decorated with lights that were covered with purple shades. Within the choir stalls stood many mice with booklets in their hands and Deniece was among them. Fidget guessed that they were choristers. When the choristers caught sight of him, they gave Fidget such a fixed stare that made him cower. Then he heard a low, eerie sound coming from the organ loft. Fidget looked up and saw that a nun was playing a tune on the pipe organ. Although the nun had a skilled hand with the organ, the sound was like a knife being plunged into Fidget's sides. He cupped his hands over his ears. He _hated_ the pipe organ! He _hated_ churches! He_ hated _people staring at him! He just _hated_ it!

"Is something the matter?"

Fidget jumped in a startled manner. When he turned around and saw that it was only Father Richards, he was so relieved that he thought he would faint.

"You're rather nervous," said Father Richards. "I take it you're not use to churches."

Fidget shook his head. "I could never get used to churches! Dey give me da creeps!"

"Why is that?" asked Father Richards.

Fidget couldn't answer. He gave Father Richards an uncomfortable look, pointed at the organ loft, the windows, and the choristers. The mouse priest heaved a sigh of realization. "Oh, I see," he uttered. "The atmosphere makes you feel _small_?"

Fidget nodded. "Y-yes …"

"And you're afraid you'll be treated differently?"

Fidget gave Father Richards a surprised look. "Wait a minute. How did _you _figure dat out!"

Father Richards gave the bat a confident smile. "I've encountered _all_ different kinds of people throughout my life. One eventually develops a skill to _read_ people's minds."

Fidget sighed in an exasperated tone and crossed his arms. A _mind-reader_? _Oh_ great! Just what he _needed_!

Father Richards placed a hand on Fidget's shoulder. "Why don't you come and sit with me at the pews?" he offered. "I would like to talk to you."

The poor bat gulped nervously. What did the priest want to talk to him about? Nevertheless, he decided to follow Father Richards anyway. He could already spot the choristers exchange whispers while they looked back at him. They approached the pews just in front of the confessional room. Father Richards gestured Fidget to sit down. The bat hesitantly obeyed and twiddled his fingers. He almost looked like a little boy sitting in a corner for doing something bad. Then Father Richards sat next to him.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he began.

Fidget uttered an offended chuckle at the priest for his understatement. "_Afraid _of you?" he replied. "Why would I be _afraid_ of you?"

"You _were _hesitant to shake my hand earlier," Father Richards pointed out. "And you _did _say that churches frighten you."

Fidget heaved an exasperated sigh. The priest was analyzing him. "Look, if you're tryin' to play mind games with me, _don't_!" Fidget blurted as he backed away. "I just don't like churches, _dat's all_! Why can't we just leave it at dat!"

"I _only _asked if you were afraid of me," said Father Richards, maintaining a gentle composure.

Fidget did not reply. Instead he gazed at the floor, embarrassed by his outburst.

"There's no need to be ashamed, my son," Father Richards assured him. "If you truly are afraid of me, just say so."

Fidget heaved a surrendering sigh to keep calm. "I don't like people," he replied. "And I don't like _priests_ either. Does dat answer your question?"

Father Richards nodded in an unsurprised manner. "I met a mouse who didn't like people either. _Edward Fairchild_, his name was. Many thought he was a cruel, unfeeling creature, including myself. But then I learned that his hatred of people resulted from a lifetime of neglect, from his family and loved ones."

Father Richards's comment caused Fidget to stare at him strangely. Why was he telling him all _this_? Nevertheless, Fidget listened with a hint of interest.

"It was a very painful subject for Edward," he continued. "He kept it bottled up for so long, until I pressed him to talk about it. He didn't favor my persistence, but he eventually told his tale. It turned out that he was a very warm, generous man who only appeared cruel because he was trying to protect himself. I was twenty years old when that experience taught me to look beyond appearances."

"And what's dat suppose to mean?" said Fidget.

Father Richards motioned his head toward the direction of the choir stalls. The choristers had begun their rehearsal for the mass. Deniece had started off the song with a solo. Her voice attracted Fidget's attention once again. It was the same voice that haunted his ears the first time he heard it. But this time, a different feeling came over the peg-legged bat. The smoothness of Deniece's timbre was luke-warm water pouring down his body. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drown within the sweetness and calm of her voice.

"You take quite a fancy to her singing," said Father Richards, interrupting Fidget from his thoughts.

"Oh … well," Fidget stammered. "It's different."

Father Richards found Fidget's comment interesting. "So what do you think of Deniece?"

Fidget heaved a surrendering sigh. "Niecy confuses me," he said. "One minute she's so _bossy _and da next, she's so sad. I … just don't get it."

"She's an _artist_," said Father Richards. "It isn't too strange for artists to confuse people. Not to mention that Deniece has had to cope with so many losses in her life."

"_Losses_?" uttered a perplexed Fidget.

"The death of her parents, guardians, and her friends," Father Richards pointed out. "Loss is not an easy thing to cope with, _especially _for an unmarried woman."

"Is dat why she always looks sad?" Fidget asked.

"_Part_ of the reason," Father Richards emphasized. "Did she ever tell you about the men she encountered in her life?"

"Well, she mentioned it a little," Fidget replied. "Somethin' about runnin' into them at _Da Rat Trap_."

Father Richards shook his head. "She has encountered ruffians _before _she began work at _The Rat Trap_. That's how she got raped."

Fidget's ears perked up. "_What_?"

Father Richards explained to Fidget the story of Deniece's past. Her friend Lacey was walking home one night and was unfortunate to run into criminals who were about to take advantage of her. Deniece saved Lacey by enticing them to chase her. The plan was to make her escape as she lured them into confusion. But one grabbed hold of her ankle before she could get away.

"But dat's impossible," Fidget blurted. "A big, strong lady like dat!"

"Even a big, strong lady is prone to danger," Father Richards pointed out. "Especially, when it's more than one man surrounding her who are almost_ as_ tall as she is."

Fidget's jaw dropped open. His gaze darted back at Deniece, who continued to sing with the choristers.

"She would've been killed, had it not been for Constable Smith," Father Richards continued. "She recovered from her physical wounds. But that incident cost her a lot of heartache with the men she fell in love with."

Fidget's eyes grew wide as saucers. "You mean dat men left her because she was …" Although his voice trailed off, Father Richards nodded in reply. Fidget lowered his head in an embarrassed manner. "I … didn't know …"

"Now you now the secret of her singing," Father Richards. "That is why she has gained fame for it."

Fidget gazed back at Deniece. He realized that Father Richards had spoken the truth. As he watched her sing, he noticed that her eyes and face were expressive of each lyric she uttered.

**Chapter 4: _Haunted … Traces of Guilt_**

Fidget found himself on the streets of London. At least he thought it was. Something seemed to be amiss. There were no townsmice. There were no humans. In fact, there was not a trace of life anywhere. The buildings were run-down and empty and a dark gray mist hung heavily. Soon after, raindrops followed.

Fidget ran inside a human boot for shelter. He embraced himself against the winter-cold wind. "What's dis place?" he whispered. Peering outside the boot, he noticed something moving in the distance. "Who's dhere?"

"My child ..." came a ghostly call.

As he focused his attention on the moving figure, he realized it was drawing closer to him. Squinting his eyes, he tried to get a better look. It was female bat, he could tell. It wasn't tall enough to be Deniece, and definitely too tall to beLillian. The fur was the same color as his. She wore a blue ribbon on her, tied in a bow with flowing strands. Her dress, unlike her ribbon, was light blue and rather ragged in appearance. Slowly, he crept up to the moving bat. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"My child ..." was all the female could say. It wasn't until she was two arms'-length away from him that he could make the details of her face. She had large, drooping ears like his and blue eyes. In truth, her face had similar designs to that of his with the exception for a mass of medium brown hair on her head that curled at the ends. Though Fidget didn't know who she was, he thought she looked familiar.

The female bat fell to her knees with her wings extended. She spoke to him with an Irish accent: "Finnius. Yer safe, thank God ..."

"_Who!_" Fidget blurted out.

"Finnius," repeated the female. Her expression turned to sadness. "Ya don't recognize me?"

"I don't," said Fidget.

The bat buried her face in her wing. Fidget could tell she was crying. "Finnius, what have ya done?"

"What do you mean?" asked Fidget guiltily.

"What have ya becohme?" she wept. "Why did you turn to a life of piracy?"

Fidget backed away. _Don't tell me she KNOWS everythin' about me!_ he thought nervously. "Who are you! Why do you keep callin' me Finnius!"

The woman bat rested her palms gently on Fidget's shoulders. "My name is Charlotte O'Reilly," she answered. "I'm yer mother."

"My mother!" Fidget reacted. He backed away, frightened. "No ... You can't be ..."

"Finnius, don't be afraid," the bat named Charlotte assured him.

Fidget quivered like he did in Deniece's parlor. This time, it was stronger. Charlotte opened her wings and wrapped them around the trembling bat in an embrace. Fidget found his body relaxing at the touch of the woman bat. Her embrace, he realized, felt warm, comforting, and familiar. Out of instinct, he wrapped his wings around Charlotte's shoulders. He felt misty-eyed. "Mother? Are ... you really ... my mother?"

"Aye Finnius," said Charlotte. "I am yer mother."

Fidget buried his face between her neck and right shoulder. "If you're my mother," he began in a quivering voice. "then please tell me. Who am I?"

In response to his question, Charlotte pushed him away in terror. Fidget gazed at her in fright. Her body began to crumble like glass. She let out an ear-shattering scream as her remains dissolved and blew away in the wind.

"MOTHER!"

The town disappeared. Another shadowy figure approached. This time, it wasn't a bat. It was bigger and more imposing, yet very familiar. Unknowledgeable, frightened little Fidget turned to run away. A hand grabbed his arm, squeezing it. Wincing in pain, Fidget turned to face his captor. His eyes widened when he looked into its piercing eyes. "_Boss_?"

"Turning into a little traitor, _aren't_ you Fidget?" said the giant rat.

"Traitor!" Fidget blurted in disbelief. "What are ya talkin' about? _You_ threw me out!"

Fidget's struggles to break free were useless. Ratigan's grip was stronger and more painful. "Oh come now, Fidget!" he said, disregarding Fidget's last remark. "Don't tell me you_ love_ her!"

"Love!" Fidget exclaimed. "You're nuts! I don't love anybody!"

"Oh yes you do!" His grip tightened around Fidget's wing. "You're in love with that French girl _Deniece_, aren't you?"

"She means nothin'!" Fidget retorted. "Leave her outta dis!"

It was no use. Fidget's denial only enticed Ratigan to intimidate him further. "I take it she's _in love_ with you. She won't be once she finds out what you _really_ are! Do you _honestly_ think that anyone would love _you_, a wretched, scrawny, demented, little man!"

"LET GO!"

Fidget opened his eyes. He glanced at his wing, then at his surroundings. He was back in Deniece's house, hanging upside-down from the ceiling. He sighed in relief. "It was only a dream ..." he whispered.

The door opened. "_Dormez vous_?" came a mezzo-soprano voice. Fidget shook his head, though he didn't know what Deniece said. "Let's go on an outing today, shall we?"

Fidget flapped to the ground, landing on his peg and foot. "Outing? To where?"

"Over London," Deniece replied. "I want us to go flying."

Fidget gave her a stupefied gaze. "Are you kiddin'? I _can't _fly!"

"You can ride on my back then," Deniece offered.

"Why are we going out?" a curious Fidget asked, scratching his head.

"It's a beautiful, gray afternoon," Deniece replied. "And besides, we had fun at that picnic one day. I see no reason we can't have more outings."

Fidget's body froze as he clutched onto Deniece's back. She swooped so abruptly that he feared he would fall off. "I don't believe this …" he uttered in a trembling voice.

"You're not afraid, are you?" Deniece called to him. "Flying is fun!"

"At least you _can_ fly!" Fidget called back.

The two bats were way above the factories. Fidget opened his eyes then closed them once he realized how high above they were. It was times like these that he wished he didn't have a crippled wing. "I t'ink I'm gonna be sick," he said. "Can we land somewhere?"

Deniece heaved a sigh. "Well, alright. We'll land on that roof."

No sooner said than Deniece gracefully landed on the rooftop of a toy store. Slowly, Fidget climbed off her back, breathing heavily. He allowed himself to plop in a sitting position with his legs spread apart. Deniece eyed him curiously. "It really bothers you that much?"

Fidget shot her a dis-satisfied gaze. He could only respond through panting breaths. "If your wing … was broken, wouldn't it … bother you too?"

"Well, you could've said something sooner," Deniece replied nonchalantly.

"Well, you insisted that we go on an outing," Fidget argued. "I can never let a woman go out by herself."

An offended Deniece shot back an evil stare. "Oh, so you're implying that I can't look out for myself?"

They were arguing again. Afterwards, both stopped short only to stare at each other and laugh.

"I kinda like when we argue," Fidget uttered through a fitful of giggles.

Deniece giggled.

The two bats spent the time sitting on the rooftop, gazing at the view of London. Deniece began to comment on how beautiful it looked. Once Fidget gazed in that direction, he could only agree. In fact, he couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom as the cool wind blew in his face. For a long time, he had been occupied with running errands under the orders of the Professor. He hardly ever had the time to take a moment to enjoy the view because he was always busy. And even when he had the time, he usually spent it in a bar to get a view at beautiful women when he got drunk. Then he recalled his days as a pirate on _The Bloody Rose_. How he used to hate the view. All he saw was endless water. He lost count of the many times he got seasick on a stormy evening when the ship rocked back and forth. He was the only pirate on the ship who got seasick real easily. All the other pirates made fun of him, even Captain Lillian Bates. It was really embarrassing for him. He eventually learned to get used to it and made sure no one was around whenever he got sick or was feeling extremely depressed. Solitude was his best solution to the problem. In fact, it was his _only_ solution. How completely different life had been … until now.

Fidget fixed his eyes on Deniece as she gazed into the horizon. Strands of her butter-toned hair danced in harmony with the wind. Her cat-green eyes seemed brighter than usual. They weren't as sad as he remembered. They were shining like fireflies. She definitely seemed happier, and it made Fidget feel warm inside.

Warm … The word repeated in his mind. Warm, like the pillow he lay his head upon when he had pneumonia. Warm, like the peppermint tea he disliked so much, but helped him get well. Warm, like the touch of Deniece's webbed fingers on his hand when he cut himself by squeezing the wine glass so hard that it broke. Warm, how his insides felt after hearing Deniece sing.

Then sadness followed. A very deep, painful sadness when he thought about the days of his miserable pirate life. He recalled the times he spent in the taverns at every dock the ship lowered anchor by. There were times when he felt really sad. All he needed was a good drink to make it go away. He pulled out a bag of gold from stolen treasure and four tankards of beer. One evening he had nearly drunk himself to sleep at the table as he wallowed in self-pity. And if he wasn't drinking, he'd find a woman or two for amusement (mainly prostitutes). Sadness was simply unacceptable to him _and_ his line of work.

Now sadness was knifing him. He made every effort to pretend that it didn't exist, but it didn't help.

"Fidget?"

A startled Fidget met a pair of cat-green eyes staring back at him. Deniece was well aware that he was in a daze. "What's wrong?"

Fidget gave her a sheepish smile. "Um … nothin' …"

Deniece gave him an expression of disbelief. "That look on your face didn't look like _nothin_'."

Fidget was at a loss for words. He couldn't come up with a good lie. So he decided on a half-truth and told her about the nightmare he had last night. He told her about seeing a woman who called herself Charlotte O'Reilly and claimed to be his mother.

"Maybe it's a sign?" she mentioned.

"A sign?" replied a perplexed Fidget.

"That you're starting to remember," Deniece concluded. "At least you got a glimpse of your mother … whoever she may be."

Fidget nodded, but said nothing further. He only mentioned that he met the woman bat who claimed to be his mother. He mentioned nothing about seeing Professor Ratigan, nor did he intend to. Just as long as _she_ didn't find out …

"Well, I would like to fly somewhere else," Deniece said as she spread her large wings. She looked back at Fidget. "Anywhere _you'd _like to go?"

A puzzled Fidget scratched his head at her response. He was never the kind of guy who wanted to go anywhere, other than a tavern or the docks. No one ever asked him what _he_ wanted. Then he spotted something blowing in the wind. It looked like a piece of blue ribbon, like the one that Charlotte character wore on her neck. His eyes followed the floating ribbon. He saw it land inside a marble fountain in the distance. Fidget's gaze met Deniece's once again. "How about 'dat fountain?" he pointed.

Deniece motioned her left arm. "Climb on my back. I'll take you there."

He just _had _to open his big mouth. Fidget absentmindedly chose the fountain, thinking they would simply sit on the ledge to watch the water. He had no idea that Deniece was going to have him sit on a lotus leaf that was floating in the water. Fidget trembled uncontrollably as he covered his eyes to avoid looking at the water. Images of nearly drowning in River Thames suddenly came back to him.

"Fidget? Are you alright?" Deniece was watching him the whole time.

"Uh …" was all Fidget could say.

Deniece placed her hand on Fidget's forehead. He was sweating profusely. She then scooped a handful of water in an attempt to pour some on Fidget's forehead to cool him down. Instead, it gave him such a scare that he almost fell from the leaf. When he came to his senses, he darted his gaze at Deniece. "Don't ever do 'dat again!" he cried. "I thought I was drowning!"

The poor bat panted like a helpless dog. Deniece suddenly realized why he was trembling. She placed her webbed hands on Fidget's wrists. "Look at me."

_Uh oh! _Fidget thought. He was in trouble! Nevertheless, he obediently lifted his head. Surprisingly, Deniece didn't ask any personal questions. She spoke in a soft, gentle tone. "Now, close your eyes … Take a deep breath … And listen to my voice …" Suddenly, Deniece began speaking in words that were completely incomprehensible. It certainly wasn't her native French tongue, Fidget could tell. At the same time, he couldn't understand what the hell she was saying, so he knew it wasn't English either. Nevertheless, he listened anyway. At the same time, she was also stroking his wrists with her thumbs. Although he didn't know what she was saying, Fidget's body trembled less with each syllable Deniece uttered. Her words were raindrops. He felt his mind drift off. Then he saw something.

A young bat-ling was sitting on the floor with both his legs sprawled. In his tiny webbed hands was a ball of yarn. The little creature smoothed it with his thumbs then tossed it up and down. The bat-ling looked about four years old. However, Fidget couldn't see its face. Its back was turned to him. Suddenly, another bat entered the room. This one was a grown up. Strangely, Fidget noticed that this one looked like him. But this one was taller. It had a black mustache and wore a woolen sweater, just like he did. Then this bat began to speak. "What'cha doin', Finnius?" The young bat-ling giggled as it turned to face the adult. That's when Fidget began to see its face … and what a surprise! It was the spitting image of him: Dimples at the corner of its mouth, large yellow eyes encircled by red rings. The young bat-ling smiled as he tugged at the adult's wing playfully.

"Were you tryin' to make that ball fly?" said the grown bat.

The bat-ling giggled. "Can't it grow wings, Papa? Like us?"

The father bat laughed wholeheartedly at his son's comment. "No, Finnius. It's just a ball of yarn."

"What's goin' on in there?"

Fidget realized that it was a woman's voice calling. He wasn't sure who it belonged to, but it sounded very familiar.

"Don't tell me Finnius is playing with my ball of yarn again!"

The door across where the bat-ling sat opened ajar. Fidget squinted. He couldn't make out the features of the lady bat. They were hidden under a shadow. But the young bat-ling dropped the ball of yarn to gaze up at her. His happy face suddenly turned into a huge frown.

"Rupert," the lady uttered in an annoyed tone.

"He didn't mean any harm, darling," replied the father bat. "He's just fascinated by the ball."

"I don't knoh what I'm goin' to do with this boy," the lady bat sighed in exasperation. "Every day, I see him act so strange. If he's not playing with my ball of yarn, he's standin' on his hands or runnin' his fingers on broom legs."

"He's not doing anything wrong, Charlotte," Rupert assured her. "He's just bored and needs attention, that's all."

Charlotte … That name! Could it be? As the lady bat stepped out from the shadows, her face was suddenly unveiled. A head full of auburn hair, curled at the temples encircled her face. She had the same color fur and nose as the bat-ling, but her eyes were blue and her mouth was small. What stunned Fidget the most was what the lady wore on her neck. A long, blue ribbon was fastened on her neck, as if she were a kitten. It was her! Charlotte O'Reilly!

Fidget opened his eyes. Deniece sat across from him, beaming a warm smile. He was back on the lotus leaf again. And this time, he no longer trembled. But his mind was foggy, as if he just woke up from sleep. "What happened?" Fidget asked, dumbfounded.

"I just helped you overcome your fear," Deniece replied simplistically.

"But how …?" Fidget was still perplexed. "Da last t'ing I remember was you were whispering somet'ing in my ear."

Deniece giggled, unsurprised by Fidget's confusion. "It was a chant my mother created. My _real _mother."

"A chant?"

"When I was a little girl, I had this bad dream. I dreamt that I was surrounded by dark shadows. I knew they were rodents, but I didn't know who they were. In my dream, I was engulfed by these shadows, and woke up screaming. My mother came to me. I told her what had happened, and I was shaking so much that I couldn't stop. She just took my hands in hers, and said, 'I will teach you a remedy passed on by my ancestors. If either you or someone you care for is haunted by a dark force, use this chant. The demons shall go away.' She then commanded to do as she told me, and whispered something in my ear. The next thing I knew, it was the following day and I was awake."

Fidget scratched his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Chants? Ancestors? "But what did you just say?"

"I said … 'Think of happier times. Remember a time when you felt truly warm.' It was in the Arabic tongue."

"Arabic?" said Fidget.

Deniece nodded. "My mother was a Moroccan healer. Some of my healing methods come from her."

Fidget pondered as he and Deniece continued to ride on the lotus leaf. _Remember a time when you felt truly warm_, Deniece said. Vague traces of the image he saw while under Deniece's influence were coming back to him. He saw two bats, he recalled. One was a young child, the other its father. The child was tossing up a ball of yarn and giggling. It seemed warm and happy. When Deniece was chanting in his ear, Fidget couldn't understand a word she was saying. Yet somehow, he managed to do exactly as she commanded. But what did that young bat have to do with him?

"Finnius …"

Fidget found himself in a very familiar place. It was giant room, filled with giant toys. He knew this place very well. It was the Toy Store! The same place he stole some goods for Professor Ratigan in attempts to destroy Queen Mousetoria's Diamond Jubilee. And he was lying in the same toy cradle where he hid when he kidnapped that Flaversham brat. But how did he end up here?

"Finnius …"

He heard something. Someone was calling for a Finnius … whoever that was.

"Finnius …"

Now the voice sounded closer. The fur on the back of his neck stuck out like porcupine quills. His whole back was a swarm of goose-bumps. He was not alone. Someone was here. Then he was stunned by a bright light. He rubbed his eyes as he complained about the pain. He slowly opened his eyes to a squint. A bright light shone at the foot of the cradle. In its place stood a young woman bat, dressed in blue. A surprised Fidget studied the woman who stood as still as a statute. She had auburn hair that curled at the temples and wore a blue ribbon on her neck. For a moment, she was looking at the ground but soon lifted her eyes to meet Fidget's. Her eyes were blue and her face was warm and inviting. She slowly extended her left wing. In her webbed hand was a ball of lavender-colored yarn. She placed it in Fidget's webbed hand.

"Do you remember this, Finnius?"

Fidget said nothing, but fixed his gaze on the ball of yarn.

"Ya played with this when ya were a child," said Charlotte. "Remember?"

"I played with …? Wait a minute!" Fidget uttered in surprise. "Are you sayin' dat kid I saw was _me_!"

"Ya were such an innocent boy, Finnius," said Charlotte. "What happened to ya?"

Fidget opened his eyes. He had taken a nap. He never realized that being so nervous would wear him out! Deniece had to carry him to his room. Once again, she was waiting at the door. They were to go on another outing, only this time it would be on foot. Fidget didn't think he could take another flying. He wondered where the next outing would be …

"Come on, Fidget!" Deniece called. "I'm on the bridge."

Fidget was running, panting for breath, while Deniece stood by the bridge. How dare she run faster than he could, and she knew he had a peg leg! That wasn't fair! When he finally caught up with her, he realized that Deniece was gazing at the River Thames. River Thames … Did she _have_ to pick a place like this!

"Lacey and I used to walk by here," she said. "And this is where I saw you fall."

"Um, yeah," Fidget uttered with a gulp.

"What I don't understand is why were you up in that dirigible?"

"Uhhh, haha … _dirigible_?" Fidget giggled nervously.

"Yes, dirigible," said Deniece. "I remember seeing a dirigible, just before I saw your body fall."

Fidget twiddled his fingers as he stumbled in his head for an explanation. "Well … You remember dat I said I was taken in by a travelin' seafarer?"

"You mean the one you worked for your whole life?" Deniece replied with a nod.

"Well I … kinda made him mad," Fidget replied. "We were … deliverin' goods. I kept makin' mistakes on where they were to be delivered … and my boss threw me out."

"But why would a seafarer have goods delivered on a dirigible?" asked a confused Deniece. "They conduct their business on the sea. That's why they're called _sea_farers."

"My boss was the inventive type," Fidget lied. "Sometimes sailing on the sea was boring for him, so we would ride in his dirigible."

Deniece rubbed her chin curiously. "You said your boss threw you out because you kept making mistakes. What kind of mistakes?"

"I … don't want to talk about it!" Fidget blurted.

"Fidget, I want to know," Deniece urged. "Sometimes it helps to talk about it."

"Well, I _don't_ want to talk about it!" Fidget repeated. "I was thrown out, dat's _dat_!"

"Fidget …"

"Niecy, _please_!"

Fidget's body perspired from fear, hoping that Deniece would not pressure him anymore. He couldn't shake the betrayal he had endured when Professor Ratigan threw him from that dirigible. That horrible day when he finally realized that his services were no longer needed, that the Professor never cared! Fidget never thought that he would ever feel so … _vulnerable_!

"Fidget, what's the matter!" Deniece placed her webbed hands on his shoulders. "You're trembling like a madman!"

Fidget couldn't speak for fear he might accidentally confess his whole life story, including the connection between himself and the Professor.

Deniece stroked his shoulders with her thumbs. She spoke to him in a whisper. "Your own boss betrayed you, didn't he?"

How did _she _know, thought a stupefied Fidget! But surprisingly, his body stopped trembling. He was calm again.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, _mon chere_," Deniece cooed. "I know what it's like to be let down by the one person you thought was your friend. That is why I'm here. I will never let you down."

Fidget felt his mind melt. _I will never let you down_, she said? He never expected that kind of response from a woman, nor anyone else for that matter. He had been with many women before, yet he felt like Deniece was the first woman he had ever been close to. _Close_ … The word echoed in Fidget's head. It even came close to escaping his lips. Her hands on his shoulders, the conversations they had, the way she was able to read his mind in a comfortable way. Comfortable … close … comfortable … Was this what it felt like?

"Fidget, are you alright?" said Deniece.

Fidget managed to give her a bashful smile. "Niecy … Please, don't worry about me."

Deniece and Fidget continued their walk through the town. He couldn't help but notice some village mice staring in their direction. Staring at _him_! Fidget covered his face with his left wing in embarrassment. He could hear a few of the mice's children giggle. Hopefully no one knew he really was. The last thing he wanted to deal with was some tattle-tale singling him out in front of Deniece!

Fidget couldn't recall how long he and Deniece have been walking. They've visited the old Toy Store where he had stolen uniforms (why did she have to pick _this_ place, he wondered?) and many parks with thick green grass. In all his years in London, he never once noticed all the mystery this city possessed. Fidget wondered how could have missed all this haunting beauty. Yes, haunting. Although it was beautiful, it was still scary to him. He spotted a giant boot in a dark corner which looked exactly like the one in his dream, where he met that Charlotte lady, or whoever she was … And Fidget saw two mice parents with their daughter walking out of a yarn store. The mouse child was holding a ball of lavender yarn in her hands. The _yarn_! Just like the one in his vision of the young bat! How happy that child look, making the ball of yarn fly. How happy that young mouse looked with the ball of yarn in her hands …

"Ow …" Fidget uttered.

"What is it?" said Deniece.

Fidget winced with every step on the rough ground. They must've walked so many miles on foot. His only foot was starting to get sore.

"I need to stop," Fidget complained. "My foot is _killin'_ me!"

Deniece stood silent as she observed the area for a resting place. She spotted one. "If you climb on my back, I'll fly us to that roof," she replied. "We can both rest there."

Fidget wasted no time in heeding her advice. Deniece flew up the house and landed by a chimney where part of the roof had a flat surface. It was enough to make the resting place ideal for the two bats. Fidget released his grip from Deniece, landing foot first on the flat surface. "Ow," Fidget uttered in a meek tone.

"Are you really in _that _much pain?" said Deniece, surprised by Fidget's intolerance of pain.

"I only have one foot, Niecy," said Fidget, slightly annoyed by her response. "If you were walkin' for a long time on one foot and a peg, wouldn't it hurt you a lot too?"

Deniece sighed. "Lie on your back then. I can help ease the pain a little."

Fidget gave her a confused stare. "Whaddya mean?"

"Just do as I say," Deniece demanded. "Lie on your back."

Fidget obeyed, but his confusion didn't go away. What did she mean by she can _help ease the pain_? He felt his shoe being pulled off, followed by two thumbs stroking the sole. "Whaddya doin'?" Fidget asked.

"Brace yourself," Deniece warned him. "This will hurt a little at first."

Fidget soon learned what she meant. Deniece applied pressure against the middle of the sole with her thumbs, then rotated them in a circular motion. Fidget gritted his teeth in agony. As if his foot didn't hurt enough, now _she_ had to add to it! But it didn't last. As Deniece continued to knead his sole, the pain lessened. Fidget heaved a sigh of relief. "Dat … feels nice," he said to her. Deniece replied with a smile as she continued rubbing. Fidget gazed up at the cloud-filled sky. It was a dull blue-gray, possibly a chance of rain. He didn't care, he just wanted to look. Two clouds in particular appeared intertwined with each other, like a couple holding hands. Fidget took a deep cleansing breath and admired the sight of those two clouds, before he fixed his gaze back on Deniece. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Deniece replied.

"How come you don't have a man with you?"

"I have a man," Deniece replied. "_You're _a man; I think that counts."

Fidget chuckled at her response. He knew he needed to be more specific. "No. I mean how come you don't have a man to _take care_ of you? And I don't mean dat priest guy or that constable."

Deniece giggled. "I think you already know that answer, silly! I haven't found the right man yet."

Fidget hesitated before he made the next response. "But you're such a caring woman. It's just not right for you to be alone."

Deniece said not a word, but turned her head away, blushing. The sad look in her eyes returned again, making Fidget regret his own words. "I know what you're t'inkin'. Dat priest guy told me all about it."

Deniece's ears perked up as she darted her gaze at him in surprise.

"Dhere's no need to be ashamed," Fidget continued. "I'm sure you'll find a good man who cares for you. You deserve it, Niecy."

Deniece gave Fidget a warm smile. "But I've _found_ a good man already," she said softly. "He may be a very _complicated _one, but a good one."

Although Fidget smiled in return, inside he was frowning. Deniece claimed she already found a good man, but he just couldn't bring himself to believe it. Since the first day he met Deniece, his whole world turned upside down. Everything he once believed in he now questioned. All his life, he had did nothing but follow orders. Anything Captain Bates or Professor Ratigan told him to do, he did it and without question. And when Deniece took him under her wing, he wanted nothing to do with her. But now, things have changed. He looked at the lovely lady bat with the butter-toned hair, chocolate-colored fur, and cat-green eyes in a whole new perspective. In a way, she was just like him. No, nothing like him at all! She was the bat that he always wanted to be. Admired, beautiful, talented, strong-willed, affectionate … All the things that Fidget had secretly searched for his whole life, and never found. Deniece was his mirror, the only thing he wanted to see. With her image stuck in his head, Fidget closed his eyes. Then he suddenly heard a soft hum coming from the song bat. The voice that once frightened him was now something he welcomed. He still trembled, but this time he liked it. Without warning, Deniece stopped humming when she saw that Fidget's eyes were closed.

"Don't stop," Fidget urged. "Please Niecy. Don't stop, it's pretty …"

Pleased by his request, Deniece did as he commanded. She hummed as she watched the now mellowed-out Fidget closed his eyes. Then her hum turned into singing:

_It's a lazy afternoon,_

_And the beetle-bugs are zoomin'_

_And the tulip trees are bloomin'_

_And there's not another human_

_In view_

_But us two …_

As he listened to Deniece's singing, Fidget saw endless fields of flowers blanketing fresh green grass. He must've been dreaming, but he didn't care. He walked through the forest of flowers, with Deniece's singing voice beckoning him to come. Beckoning …

"Huh? Where am I?"

Fidget found himself in the guest bedroom again. Did he just dream that he and Deniece went on an outing?

"So you're awake?"

Deniece stood by the bedroom door. She giggled at the site of Fidget's confusion. "Our walk really must've worn you out! You fell asleep when I began singing, _mon chere_!"

Fidget scratched his head. "How did you manage to bring me back?"

"Well …" Deniece began. "The first time I brought you to my house, you fell at my feet unconscious. Why would this time be any different?"

Fidget shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I thought I would've noticed it if you took me on your back and flew me here."

"You're such a heavy sleeper," Deniece replied. "I don't think you would wake up that easily, even if there was a village riot."

Fidget said nothing, but smiled in reply and looked at her with soulful. Deniece seemed particularly interested in this kind of response. "You know, we've been together for quite some time, and this is the first time I've ever seen you look at me like that."

"Oh, it's nothin'," said Fidget. "I've looked at you before."

"But not like this," Deniece replied.

"Does dat bother you?" Fidget replied with a concerned expression.

Deniece sighed. "Well, it's cute, but you look a little … sad."

Fidget said nothing, but stared at the floor with a frown. Deniece placed her right arm around his shoulders. Fidget reached out with his left hand to touch her hand. He stroked it affectionately with his thumb.

"Well, this is a surprise," Deniece uttered, her voice slightly trembling. "You're more accepting of my touch than you used to be."

Fidget turned his gaze upon Deniece. This time, he looked her straight in the eye. "Niecy … what if I'm not da man you t'ought I was?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I'm not da good man you t'ought I was?" Fidget repeated. "What if I were … well, a _ruffian_, like dose mice at Da Rat Trap? What if I were da kind of guy you would …_ hate_?"

"How can you say that!" she blurted in an unpleasant tone. "I don't hate you. I would_ never _hate you!"

Without warning, Fidget pulled Deniece toward him in the strongest embrace he could ever give. He buried his face in her shoulders and trembled. "It's just so ... _complicated_. I just ... I just need a little time ..."

"Why are you trembling?" asked Deniece as she stroked his back with her webbed hands.

"Because I'm ... scared ..."

Deniece remained speechless. She didn't know what else to do but return Fidget's strong embrace with one of her own. Suddenly, she felt herself tremble as well. "I'm … scared too, Fidget," she confessed. "I'm scared … because … I have the feeling we might be … separated, forever …."

"Niecy … I … _I love you_ …"

The two bats spent a long time, embracing each other and trembling with fear. Although Deniece knew no more about him than when they first met, she felt an ache that began to cut so deep in her soul. It was almost the same feeling she had when she mourned for her friend Lacey. What was going to happen, she wondered? Would she lose Fidget too?

Suddenly, the clock chime of the clock interrupted their thoughts. "It's getting late," said Deniece. "I think it's about time we go to sleep."

Fidget loosened his hold on Deniece. "Yeah, I am kinda sleepy."

"Maybe we can continue this talk tomorrow?" Deniece leaned forward and kissed the side of his head. "_Bon soir, mon chere _Fidget."

"B-bonn suwarr, Niecy …"

He hopped off the bed and closed the door after Deniece left. Fidget closed his eyes tightly, cupping his hands over his mouth. He found himself sinking in a whirlpool of emotions. _I feel so ... strange. What have ... you done to me, Niecy?_ He found himself flopping on the bed as he pondered over these new feelings. They haunted him so much that he thought he was going to be sick. He grasped the blankets in his fingers as if he were holding Deniece's hands. "Don't hate me, Niecy," he whispered. "Please, don't hate me ..."

Meanwhile, Deniece paced back and forth in the parlor. _Fidget cherie_, she thought to herself. _What dark secrets do you hold in your heart_ Her mind swam so deeply in feelings she thought she was attending Lacey's funeral all over again. So many loved ones she lost. Fidget liked her, she could tell. A lot of men liked her. But she never knew that she would like him back. "Don't leave me, mon chere Fidget," she whispered in a trembling voice. "Just don't leave me ..."


	3. Stirring from the Dream

**Don't You Dare Deny Me was my very first Fidget pastiche created in 2002, and the same story that gave birth to The Fidget Connections Cast. For as long as I've seen the movie, I had a vision about what would take place after Fidget was tossed in the River Thames. That vision was to reform him while keeping true to his character ... with the aide of someone who'd be a perfect match: Deniece la Chauve-souris (for we all know that he simply can't resist a woman). Originally, the story was nine pages long and intended to be short and simple. But when I read it with a fresh pair of eyes, I realized that it needed more, for it wasn't easy to describe Fidget's background without some basis of feasibility. After gaining new insight on the character and re-writing the story with new eyes, here is the story that started it all. Fidget belongs to Disney, the name "James" was used with permission by Mlle. Relda, Deniece and all other characters belong to me.**

**Chapter 1: Memories Revealed**

Finnius Holloway was born in the darkest allies of London. He was the only child of Rupert Holloway and Charlotte O'Reilly. A shy and humorous soul was little Finnius. He loved to play with his mother's ball of yarn, much to her disapproval. His father loved to give him rides on his shoulders when the bat-ling's wings were too small and too weak for flying. Finnius was a loving child, the kind that any parent would hope for … but little Finnius had a problem. Although he was kind and well meaning, he was very slow. He wasn't like the others. What most children learned in a matter of days took Finnius weeks to learn. And his speech—he slurred on words so much that other children laughed1. None of the children wanted to play with him. Rumors had it that the boy was half-mad. But Finnius was only a boy. And the Holloways were poor and struggling so much to bring enough food on the table for their only son. Sometimes so much that they rarely had any time to play with him.

One night, Rupert Holloway was about to leave home to his daily job as a carpenter. As Rupert he the lantern door, little Finnius tugged at his shoulder. "Papa, papa! Ca' we go fishin' when you ga back?"

"I might return very late, son," said Rupert. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Aw, you alway say tomowow, Papa!" Finnius began to frown. He gave his father soulful eyes. "Pwease? I wanna go fishin'! Ca' we?"

Finnius was jumping up at down in hopes that his father would change his mind. Rupert chuckled. "Well, alright. Once work is over we'll go."

"Yey!" Finnius cried, hopping for joy.

Rupert placed his hand on Finnius's head to calm him down. "Take it easy, you little monster," he giggled. "Oh, there's something I want to give you." Rupert took off his hat and placed it on Finnius's head. It was slightly oversized for the batling's little head. Nevertheless, Finnius didn't mind in the least. He smiled gratefully. "Now, go back in the house," said Rupert. "Your mother would fuss if you flew too far from the house."

Rupert spread his wings. Little Finnius watched as his father flew away. The unlimited excitement of a simple little boy! How impatiently he would wait for his father's return so he could go fishing. Little did he realize that it would be the last time he saw his father … alive.

All of a sudden, a thunderous boom startled the young bat-ling. Finnius's eyes widened in fright as he saw the grown bat fall to the ground. "Papa!" Without thinking, Finnius flew to his father's side. "Papa! Papa! You OK!" The next thing he felt were hands seizing his wings. Poor frightened Finnius squirmed and struggled to free himself. He turned his little head to face his captor. He saw what looked like a mouse priest in black robes. There were many of them, he realized. The next thing he knew, the mouse that held him captive took out a rope and tied the poor, frightened child's wings behind his back.

Upon hearing the commotion, Finnius's mother rushed to the scene. Terrified by the sight of her son being held hostage, she grabbed one of the priests by the arms. "What are ya doin'! Let go of my son, before I-!"

The mouse priest pushed her out of the way. Charlotte shoved herself back in the struggle, grabbed the priest's arm and clamped her fangs on it, nearly piercing his flesh. Terrified, the priest tried to shake her off. "Get her off!" he cried. Another priest swatted Charlotte across the face. She fell backwards until her head banged against the post of their lantern home. She slid to the ground, unconscious.

"Mama!" the frightened Finnius cried. The same priest swatted the batling's face, leaving a bruise near his right eye.

"Hold your tongue, demon child!" shouted the priest.

"Charlotte! Finnius!" Rupert cried in a feeble tone. His wing was wounded. He tried to grab his son with his good wing, but another priest swatted him back on the ground. His anger intensified. With all the strength he had left, he fought the priests, furiously and ferociously. Finnius watched as his father fought gallantly like a knight. It looked as if Rupert would win. Nevertheless, the wounded father bat was outnumbered very easily. He lay helplessly on the ground. Blood ebbed from his wounded shoulder. He looked at his unconscious wife and frightened son. One of the priests approached him. Frightened, Finnius lunged forward and bit the priest on the ankle. The priest shook him off. Rupert made every effort to get to his son, but with little to no success. He lost too much blood. Any strength left in him was ebbing away. His eyes became misty with anger and defeat. "Finnius ... Charlotte ..."

The mouse priest drew out a knife. He crossed in in mid air as if to bless the wounded bat. Upon raising it, he shouted: "And the Lord hath cast down Lucifer into the flames of hell!"

The priest slashed the fallen bat's body. Blood splashed onto Finnius's innocent face. His mind went blank at the terror of his father's mutilation. He turned his face in search for wandering mice to come to his aide. Though he spotted many wandering mice, none lifted a finger to help.

"What should we do with the demon mother and child?" asked one priest.

"Forget the mother!" ordered the main priest. "She can't do anything now!" He eyed Finnius's blood-stained face, pulling out a stick. "I'll deal with the child!" The priest that held Finnius threw him on the ground. The priest with the stick, approached behind him. Lifting his stick in the air, the priest allowed it to strike Finnius's back. He winced. Another stroke followed. Finnius screamed. "Recite after me!" the priest shouted to him. "I am a miserable sinner!"

"Let me go!" cried Finnius. Another stroke followed. Another scream echoed from his mouth.

"Say it!" ordered the priest. "I am a miserable sinner!" Finnius shook his head. The priest struck him again. "I am a miserable sinner!"

"I ... am," Finnius began, "a ... mis'rable ... sinner ..."

"I have abandoned the Lord!" said the priest. Again, Finnius shook his head. Another stroke followed. "I have abandoned the Lord!"

"I have ... ab-b-b-bandoned da ... Lord ..." Finnius echoed feebly.

"With my heathen2 ways!"

"Wit' ... my ... hee'den ... ways ..."

Upon regaining consciousness, Charlotte discovered that her child was being beaten. She seized her son from the priest's capture and quickly untied him. Commanding him to hold firmly onto her back, she flew to the London police. Frightened by her son's condition, she held him firmly in her wings. She knocked on the door. A police mouse opened it.

"Please help us sir!" cried Charlotte. "These mice dressed as priests killed me husband and beat me child!"

But the police gave her a distrustful stare. "How do we know that you're not lying?" said the mouse. "How do we know that you didn't kill your own husband and beat your own child?"

"What reason would I have ta lie?" said Charlotte. "Just look at 'im!"

"He has blood on his face!" the police mouse pointed out. "How do we know that you didn't make him suck his father's blood?" The mouse waved his hand at Charlotte in dismissal. "Be off with you! We don't want a blood-sucking killer hanging around here!" Upon his last remark, the police mouse slammed the door.

Charlotte fell to her knees in tears. She untied Finnius and wiped his blood-stained face with her handkerchief. Holding her son close to her chest, she did her best to comfort him. "You'll be alright, sweetheart," she cooed softly. "Mummy's 'ere ... Mummy's 'ere."

Finnius's mind was still blank with horror. Dey didn't do anythin', he thought. Da bad mice hurt me ...! Dey hurt my Daddy, and no one did anythin' ...!

Finnius Andrew Holloway was only four years old.

Four years passed since Rupert Holloway's death. Finnius was attending night classes at Mousedom's Elementary School. Finnius did not do well. He received poor marks. He bullied the mice-children. He stole young girls' dolls and threw them in the river. He pulled their hairs and stuck lollipops in them. He played tricks on young boys and teachers.

His situation at home fared no better. Working nightly at the clothing store, Charlotte O'Reilly was hardly at home. A tutor mouse named Taylor was hired to help Finnius with his studies while she was away at work. Taylor was a brutal mouse. He was a firm believer of spare the rod and spoil the child. Finnius was forced to scrub floors, wash dishes, dust shelves, and do laundry. If he didn't obey, Taylor gave him the soundest-thrashing. If Finnius talked back, or showed any sign of disagreement, he received another sound-thrashing. During studies, if Finnius got a question wrong, he received another sound-thrashing. Taylor even threatened to give him a sound-thrashing if he told his mother. As a result, Finnius wore oversized sweaters to cover his scars.

"Hurry up and scrub that floor!" ordered Taylor. "What part of that do you not understand!" Finnius clenched his fists as he glided the scrubbing brush across the floor. He uttered complaints under his breath. Taylor heard. "What did you say!"

"Nothin'," said Finnius.

Taylor grabbed him by the neck of his shirt. "Just who do you think you are, you worthless creature!" Finnius glared at him angrily. "I'm the boss! Your job is to scrub the floors and keep your mouth shut!" Finnius turned his head away, avoiding eye contact with his cruel baby-sitter. Noticing this, Taylor grinned at him wickedly. "You must be stupid! Like some kind of demon!"

That did it! Fidget flung the bucket of soapy water in Taylor's eyes. Cursing his temporary blindness, he searched for his rod. Finnius kicked him in the shin. "You can't tell me what to do!" Finnius cursed at him. "You're not my Daddy!"

Taylor regained his sight. He grabbed his rod. Finnius backed away, using his wings as a shield. His heel landed on the bar of soap and he slipped backwards. Approaching him, Taylor grabbed his chest and rotated him on his stomach. Holding his palm firmly on Finnius's back and his shin on Finnius's legs (to prevent him from getting up), Taylor lifted his rod in the air. "You obviously need to be taught a lesson!"

Taylor allowed the rod to strike Finnius's backside. "OW!" Finnius cried. Two more lashes followed. "GET OFF!"

"Maybe from now on, you'll hold your tongue when I-"

The door flew open. Charlotte dropped her bags upon witnessing Finnius's beating. "What's the meanin' o' this!"

Taylor dropped his rod and released Finnius. "I was teaching your little boy a lesson in courtesy, miss," was his excuse.

"He started it!" Finnius pointed out.

He unbuttoned his sweater, revealing scars left by Taylor's previous beatings. After examining her son's wounds, Charlotte glared at Taylor. "What kind o' mouse are ya, Mr. Taylor! What have ya done ta me son!" Taylor twiddled his fingers like a little child. He backed away as Charlotte approached him with bared fangs. "I'll give ya five seconds ta leave before I give ya a sound-thrashin' meself! GET OUT!"

Taylor obeyed without hesitance.

After the door closed, Charlotte met her son's painful gaze. Finnius turned his head away. "Finnius, I'm so sorry," she cooed, attempting to embrace him.

Finnius backed away. "Don't touch me!"

"Finnius!" gasped Charlotte. "What a thin' ta say ta yer mother!"

Finnius's crossed his arms. "I don't care!"

Charlotte rested her hands on her hips. She was rather annoyed. "Finnius Andrew Holloway, I will not tolerate that behavior! Ya come o'er here right noh!"

Finnius refused and for that, Charlotte slapped his face. She soon regretted it after seeing the shocked expression in her son's face. "Oh dear ... I'm so sorry..."

Finnius's eyes reddened with hatred. He backed away from his mother. "No, I hate you! I HATE YOU!" Feeling that his eyes were misty (and almost watery), he ran out the door. Charlotte followed.

On his way down the sidewalk, Finnius found himself kicking every object he came across. It was only a few seconds until Charlotte caught up with him. She grabbed her son by the shoulders. With one hand, she stroked her Finnius's face in a soothing manner. Finnius resisted. He was still angry.

"Finnius, ya must listen ta me," Charlotte said in a firm, but gentle voice. "I've seen the changes in ya, and it scares me! Yer not the same Finnius ya were four years ago."

Finnius's ears pointed up attentively to his mother's speech.

"Finnius, knoh and understand," she began. "You mustn't let-"

Shadows crept upon Charlotte's back. Gasping in fright, she turned around. Her jaw fell open in horror. Those mice priests! They were back! In fear of her child's life, she ordered Finnius to flee. She attempted to follow him, when one of the mice tore off her clothes. The rest drew their whips and flogged her. In hiding, Finnius watched his poor mother get tortured. Her screams echoed in his ears. He covered them to block the screams and ran away. Charlotte, like her husband, was a helpless leaf. Tears filled her blue eyes as she thought of her disturbed son. "Finnius ..." she uttered in a feeble tone. "Ya mustn't ... let hatred ... change ya ... Don't ... let hatred ... hide yer ... true heart ..."

Charlotte O'Reilly's eyes closed. Her body never lifted from the ground.

It rained heavily. He gazed at his reflection in the rain puddle. His fists clenched, quivering with fear and anger. "Papa ... Mama ..." he uttered bitterly. He felt misty-eyed again. "I hate d-dose ... mice ... I want t-to ... k-kill d-dem ... I want … d-dem dead!"

He found those priests once again. This time, they swore to him that they wouldn't let him escape. He made an attempt to fly away, but one of them grab his arms. "Let me go!" he cried. He spat in their faces, but all was useless.

Two others tore off his clothes the same way they did with his mother. Another two drew the whips. "Thou shalt not spread thy evil ways!"

"NOOO!"

As one of the priests raised his whip, a series of rocks struck his body. As the leader turned around, he noticed a gang of rats throwing rocks at him. He ordered the others to take care of them. The battle was long, but eventually the rats won and the priests ran away. Finnius was released. As he tried to recover his equilibrium, the leader of the gang approached him. Finnius looked up. The leader seemed around ten years older than him. "Get up!" the leader commanded. "I've watched you for quite some time. Do you think people care how you feel! Do you think showing emotions will make them treat you any better!"

"I don't understand," said Finnius.

"In time, you will," the leader replied. "Realize this: Emotions for the weak. To survive in this world, you must abandon all emotions. Turn your fears and heartaches into vengeance."

"Who are you!" Finnius demanded.

The leader's face revealed once the shadows lifted. "I am James Ratigan. That's all you'll need to know." He handed Finnius a pistol and a jackknife. "Take these and eliminate those mice! It's the only way!"

Finnius shuddered upon seeing the knife in his hand. "Are you kiddin'! I can't kill anyone!"

"Now's a perfect time to start!" said the rat leader. "Kill those mice, and you'll be free forever!"

Finnius studied his new weapons. Looking back at the rat leader, he grinned wickedly and nodded.

The priests gathered in St. Rodentdale cathedral, cursing their defeat. Hidden underneath one of the pews, Finnius watched all four of them closely. He noticed that one of them was carrying Charlotte's lifeless body to the altar. He clutched the knife and pistol close to his chest.

"The heathen brat may have gotten away," said one of the mice, "but at least we've disposed of the heathen mother!" Slowly withdrawing from underneath the pew, Finnius targeted his pistol for the mouse's head. He couldn't stop his webbed hands from trembling and he began to doubt his senses. It ... just didn't feel right. Should he really trust the advice of that rat leader he ran into not long ago? Wouldn't it just be easier to run away? No! These hypocrites killed his father! They killed his mother! They almost killed him! What if they try to hunt him down again? He couldn't risk it! Dis is for Mama! He pulled the trigger. The mouse's body collapsed and Finnius re-hid himself underneath the pew. Frightened, the other three fanatics gathered around. Again, Finnius withdrew, focused his targets on each of the three mice's chest, and fired. The mice collapsed.

Finnius slowly approached the pile of mice bodies. One of them wasn't dead yet. The mouse gazed at his attacker in shock. "How ... can ... this ...be?" he uttered weakly. "The ... heathen ... child ... is ..."

Finnius glared at the mouse bitterly as he raised his jackknife. "Dis is for my Papa!" He stabbed the mouse in the heart. He was still breathing. Finnius wouldn't let him. "DIS IS FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" Like a mad-bat, Finnius continuously stabbed the mouse. Blood stained his face, his clothes, and his hands. The last of the bad mice drew breath no more.

Finnius grinned at this victory. Dey're DEAD! he thought triumphantly. Da mice are DEAD! Unfortunately, his pride didn't last. It was only moments until his sense of glory was replaced with overwhelming fright. His whole body quivered as he gazed at his bloody hands. "What ... have ... I ... done ...!" he uttered meekly. "I ... k-killed dem ...!" He pulled on his large ears, gazing at the ceiling with his blank eyes. He gazed at the bodies again. "No ...!" he muttered, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "NOOO!"

Ashamed and frightened of what he did, Finnius ran away, screaming.

It was the last anyone had ever seen or heard of Finnius Andrew Holloway.

Fidget found himself back in Deniece's house, hanging upside-down, gazing at his surroundings. He found his body perspired from alarm. He lowered his head, bitterly frightened. "Oh God, no!" he uttered silently, covering his face. "What have I done!" For the first time in his life, Fidget felt as scared as child. He whispered to himself a question he asked the first day he came: "Deniece ... why? Why did you save me ...?" Though he tried to maintain his male pride, his guilt wouldn't let him. He laboriously fought back any attempts to weep.

**Chapter 2: Fidget's Confession**

Deniece entered the room with a loaf of bread on a tray. She broke it in pieces and offered one to Fidget. Hesitantly, he took it from her hand and stared at it. His usual gluttonous appetite suddenly disappeared like breath upon a window.

"Your eyes look red," Deniece noted.

"I ... was havin' a bad dream," said Fidget.

"You seem to have a lot of those."

Her comment was like a heavy book thrown on his lap. No matter how much he tried to suppress his fears, he couldn't. Not this time. "Niecy, dhere's some t'ing I gotta tell you."

"Tell me what?"

Fidget's throat was as dry as ashes. "Well, you remember dat night? We had dinner, and you told me Professor Ratigan was dead?"

"Yes. What about it?"

Fidget's body began to tremble; he stuttered upon speaking. "Y-you m-mentioned s-somet'ing about a p-partner … I-I was d-dat p-partner."

Deniece gave him a mortified stare, as if she already knew where the conversation was going. "What are you saying, Fidget?"

Fidget proceeded to tell Deniece about the dreams he was having, and his whole history. He was found by pirates when he was eight years old, and he was brought to their Captain, the infamous Lillian Bates (which he originally masqueraded with a lie about being raised by a seafarer). He was dubbed the cruel name Fidget and served as Bates's right-hand bat … until Professor Ratigan had found him. He was employed by the Professor shortly after the fall of the Nightwing Pirates. He had injured his wing and leg in a nasty fight, under the trickery of Selena Lunarias, a woman he was once involved with. His leg was injured so badly that Captain Bates herself amputated it and replaced with a peg. He had been without memory of his real past for many years, until dreams of the past began to haunt him. His real name was Finnius Holloway and his parents were killed by mice who claimed to be servants for God. He met the Professor for the first time during childhood, who handed him weapons and persuaded him to kill his offenders. But shortly after killing them, he fled in fear and fell. As she listened to him speak, Deniece almost dismissed his story as a jest-until Fidget had mentioned that it was the Professor himself who threw him from the dirigible the night she saved him from drowning.

"Wait a minute!" she interjected. "That night I found the poker by my door! Were you—"

Fidget gulped. He was afraid she would bring up that incident. "Plannin' to kill you?" he finished for her. "I … I was at first … but dhen dat constable friend of yours came -"

"Lacey's death," Deniece uttered in a tone that was barely audible. "So it was you who killed her!"

"What! No!" Fidget blurted. "I was with you, remember?"

"But it was Professor Ratigan's henchmice who killed Lacey," said Deniece. "After all … you tried to have me killed!"

"Niecy, I swear!" Fidget pleaded. "I did not kill Lacey! I … I didn't even know-"

"Didn't know what!" Deniece interrupted. "That I would figure it out!"

"Niecy, you're not listenin' to me!"

"To actually think I felt pity for you," Deniece added without paying attention to his last comment. "I thought I finally found someone who understood me. Now I see that you're a heathen little coward with no concern for anyone but yourself!"

Heathen! Something in Fidget's head began to snap. He grabbed Deniece's dress sleeves with his hands and shook her. "And why should I care for anyone, Miss High-and-Mighty!" he yelled. "No one showed sympathy for me! Did you t'ink dose mice showed Papa mercy when dey killed him! Did dey even show mercy to me when I begged for it! NO! Dey tried to kill me! Everyone I trusted tried to kill me!"

Fidget was greeted with a slap in the face. He let go. It was hard enough that he felt blood at the corner of his mouth. "Get out of my house!" Deniece demanded. "If you don't, I'll call the police!"

Fidget touched the corner of his bloody mouth with his webbed fingers. Though he did not lay another hand on Deniece, his anger didn't calm down one bit. He felt the water well up in his eyes. "Den call da police!" he shouted. "See if I care! I never cared for you anyway! I don't care for anyone anymore! Finnius is dead! Da Finnius you thought I was has been dead for fourteen years!"

With his last words in mind, Fidget stormed out. "You will be caught," Deniece whispered coldly. "And you will be sent to Newgate." Nevertheless, her cold thoughts faded and she was left on the floor, sobbing.

Fidget could hear her weeping from outside the window. Though he pretended not to hear, it wounded him deeply. For the most part, he sat against the wall with his face buried in his arms. Niecy, he thought to himself. I'm no good for you ... You should ... forget me ... Soon afterwards, it rained heavily. Though he was all wet, he didn't care. He could only think of Deniece and all that had gone wrong in his life. He pulled his ears, staring up at the sky with a blank expression. Like Finnius did at childhood, Fidget ran mad.

**Chapter 3: Seeking Help**

It was almost closing time at Westminster Abbey. Father Richards gathered his belongings. "Sister Ingrid!" he called.

A tan colored mouse nun emerged from the shadows. "Yes Father?"

"It's about time that we should be heading home," mentioned Father Richards. "It's almost midnight. Make sure you blow out the candles before you leave."

"Yes Father," said Sister Ingrid. She blew out the candles, gathered her belongings, and made her way out the door. It was raining heavily. Sister Ingrid drew out her umbrella. She made her way down the stairs … and dropped all her belongings when someone ran into her. "What in Heaven's name …!"

"P-please … d-don't hurt me …"

When Sister Ingrid regained her balance, she finally saw the creature that had ran into her. It was a frightened bat with a peg leg and a notch in one ear. He covered his face with crossed arms, palms outstretched.

"Father!" Sister Ingrid called. "It's that peg-legged friend of Deniece!"

"What!" came the voice of Father Richards. "Fidget? Here?"

The quivering Fidget stared blankly at the sky. When Sister Ingrid attempted to look him in the eye, Fidget turned his head away and covered it with his left wing. Sister Ingrid rushed to his side. She placed her hand on his left shoulder. "I'm not going to hurt you," she assured him. "Come inside before you catch a cold." She took off her coat and placed it over Fidget's shoulders.

Father Richards came down the steps. He gazed upon the frightened Fidget. "Oh dear," he uttered. "You need to come inside at once!"

Deniece paced back and forth in a frenzy. For the past three hours, she cursed herself for being so naïve, for letting her guard down, and for sharing her deepest secrets with an escaped criminal. Occasionally, memories of St. James Park, the outings, and their friendly conversations made her second guess her own common sense. She stomped her way to the guest bedroom, pulled out her daguerreotype photos and complained to them as if they were living, breathing companions. She complained how cheated she felt that she ever trusted a man like Fidget, how blind she was for not seeing him for what he was sooner. She shouted, complained, screamed … and wept. Deniece fell on her bed, confused and hurt. She had lost everything. Her parents, her foster parents, her dog, Lacey … and now the one bat she became so close to, who in reality turned out to be a criminal. But she loved him! She hated criminals, any kind! And yet she loved him! Deniece's whole body tingled and trembled with. She never felt so emotional, and yet so numb.

"Fidget … My poor, poor Fidget …" Deniece wiped her tears with the back of her arm. "I … I never meant … to hurt you …" She grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it to her chest, pretending it was Fidget. "You once tried to touch my hair … and called it immaculate. You told me you hated churches, yet you described touching a woman's hair as immaculate. We had argued once after you cut your hand, after how much you said you liked a woman with pretty hair, a pretty face ... You were seeking redemption, weren't you?"

A fresh set of tears flowed from Deniece's face as she got off the bed and searched for her coat. "I must find him! I must tell Constable Smith, so he can help me find him!"

"So, you were on the run fourteen years for murder!"

Fidget nodded. Father Richards and Sister Ingrid had escorted the frightened little bat up to the Sanctuary. Normally if a citizen of mousedom came to the abbey for confession, they were taken to the confessional boxes. But Fidget was too nervous to function that Father Richards feared a dark corner would make things worse. Fortunately, Sister Ingrid was able to calm the nervous pirate bat enough for him to speak. Fidget told Father Richards his whole history, including his attempts to kill Deniece. Fidget rubbed his temples to soothe a dizzying headache. His stomach growled with hunger.

"Have you come to kill us too?" Sister Ingrid added with a suspicious look.

Fidget shook his head. "Can't … I don't want to …"

Father Richards and Sister Ingrid gave each other a puzzled look. Finally, Father Richards spoke. "Why did you come here?"

Fidget shrugged his shoulders. "Where can I go?"

"You once told me that you're afraid of churches," said Father Richards as he rubbed his chin curiously. "And yet you come here to the abbey. Is it because of what happened between you and Deniece?"

Fidget said nothing but stared at the ground. "I … I can't stop t'inkin' about her. She … was so good to me, and … I didn't appreciate her …" The pirate bat's voice began to tremble. "Now I've lost her … I've lost my mother, my father, my life … I've lost … everything! I don't know what to do … And I'm scared …!"

Fidget fell to his knees, weeping. Sister Ingrid looked pitifully at him. She never expected a pirate like Fidget to weep. She approached the poor bat, knelt to his level, and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. "You've been living a shadowed past," she spoke softly. "Yet we can sense that there is good inside your heart."

"I'm ... not," Fidget uttered through tears. "I'm a pirate ... Everyone in mousedom hates me! Even Niecy hates me!"

"No, she does not," said Father Richards, who placed his hand gently on Fidget's shoulder. "I've known Deniece for a long time. I've seen the look in her eyes when she talked about her special friend."

"Father Richards is right, Mr. Fidget," Sister Ingrid added. "Whatever Deniece had said, I'm sure she didn't mean it. If you tell her that you're sorry, you'll feel a lot better."

"How can I?" wept Fidget. "My crimes ... are beyond forgiveness …"

"No crime is too great for God to forgive," Father Richards assured him. "If you truly are sorry for what you've done, God will forgive you. It would also do you good to turn yourself in."

The priest's last comment stunned Fidget. "I-if I do dat, dey'll throw me in Newgate for sure! I'll be hanged, and I don't want to die!"

Sister Ingrid crossed her arms. "What about those mice you killed? Did they want to die?"

Fidget lowered his head shamefully, knowing that he would never come up with a plausible excuse.

"You see, Fidget," said Father Richards, "What you didn't realize that many of those mice were someone else's mother or father too. They also had children, waiting for their parents to come home and take them fishing too."

Fidget wiped his tears with the back of his arm. "I … I didn't know … I never wanted … to kill dem … I don't know why I did it …"

Sister Ingrid knelt to Fidget's level and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Only when you turn yourself in will you truly be free. If you don't, you'll be forever running, not knowing where to go or who to turn to. Is that what you want?"

Deniece hovered in the air for the longest time, but she saw no sign of Fidget. The raindrops fell hard on her face, nearly blurring her vision. I hope Constable Smith can find him, she prayed. She called his name. "Fidget? Fidget, where are you?" She glanced around as she flew. Her erect ears listened for any little sound coming from Fidget. There was none. "Fidget?" she called again. "It's me, Deniece!" Deniece could feel the tears brim at the corners of her eyes. When she was convinced he was nowhere to be found, she landed on the ground. "Fidget?" she said with a quivering voice. "Fidget, you don't have to hide from me. We don't want to hurt you. We want to help you. Constable Smith and I want to help you." She wiped her tears. "Please Fidget, come out!"

"You know Fidget!"

Deniece turned around and gasped. In front of her was a band of mice. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"We're Ratigan's gang," answered one of them. "Only those who belong in Ratigan's realm know of Fidget. How did you know about him?"

Deniece backed away. Ratigan's gang? she thought frantically. The same gang who killed Lacey?

One eyed her from head to foot. "Hey, you're the nightingale from The Rat Trap!" cried one gleefully. He approached Deniece. "You look cute, for a bat," he mentioned. "Looks like you would've made a perfect mate for Fidget." The mouse pinched her cheek only to be slapped in the face. "Oooo!" he said as if to not take offense. "We got ourselves a feisty little one, boys!"

"Yeah," said another. "If she wants to play hard to get, let's do the same!"

When Deniece began to fly away, a pistol fired. Deniece clutched her left shoulder as she fell to the ground. One of Ratigan's thugs managed to shoot her, disabling her ability to fly. She was left with no other choice but to run. Though she was a better flyer, she was a fast runner. "You can't run forever!" called one of the mice. "We'll get you!"

Though tempted to look back, Deniece refused. She continued to run.

Upon closing the doors at Westminster Abbey, Father Richards and Sister Ingrid escorted Fidget outside. The pirate bat looked to the two mice with a shy smile. "I … don't know what to say," he said.

"Deniece is lucky to have found a friend like you," said Sister Ingrid with a smile. "I cannot express how impressed Father Richards and I are that you came into her life."

"Just know and understand this," added Father Richards. "Westminster Abbey does not restrict anyone. We're always here for our fellow citizens, mouse and bat alike."

"I still don't like churches," Fidget admitted. "But you two are not like any priest or nun I've met. Niecy is very lucky to have friends like you."

Father Richards and Sister Ingrid bade the pirate bat farewell as he hobbled down the stairs and onto the streets. Fidget took a deep, cleansing breath. Although he was still scared, he now knew what he had to do. "I have to find Niecy," he uttered in a low voice.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a distant sound. Fidget's large, drooping ears flapped. He tilted his head attentively. Fighting? he asked himself. No, screaming ... Screaming! It was a female's voice. His jaw dropped when he realized who the screams belonged to. "It's Niecy!" he gasped. Then he remembered something else. Ratigan's gang was on the loose, the same ones that killed Lacey. Were those same mice hunting down Deniece too? "Oh no!" said Fidget. "If I don't do somet'ing, dey'll kill her!"

Fidget ran as fast as his foot and peg could carry him. He tripped over occasionally, but it didn't stop him. He lost too much already. He couldn't let anything happen to Deniece. Not now, not ever again …!

Panting for breath, Deniece continued to run. But the blood from her wound oozed down her arm and she was losing strength. Up ahead, she spotted Big Ben. "Oh please, don't let them kill me!" she begged. Then Ratigan's gang caught up with her. One of them slid behind her and grabbed her ankles, causing her to fall. "Let go of me!" she cried. Ignoring her command, the other two pressed her wings down.

"We can't let a pretty thing like you escape," one of them said. "Especially if you know about our Fidget!" The mouse pulled out a knife and held the pointed edge to her neck. "Now tell us! How did you know about Fidget!"

"I ... I don't know what you're talking about!" Deniece stammered.

"Don't lie to us, lady!" her attacker demanded. "We heard you mention Fidget's name!" He squeezed Deniece's injured shoulder, making her wince. She bared her fangs in pain. "How did you know him!"

"I ran into him," Deniece uttered. "I found him in the Thames!"

The mouse slapped Deniece's face. "I said don't lie to us!" he demanded. "Fidget's dead! They never found his body!"

"But I did!" said Deniece. "I'm not lying!"

The mouse shoved Deniece to the other gang members. "You better not be," said the mouse with a snarl, "because if you are, my men will make sport of you!"

One of the other thugs laughed wickedly as he caressed Deniece's right thigh with his hand. She felt his hand slide close to her groin. She wanted to kick him in the face, but her ankles and wings were firmly held down; her attacker lifted her to a seated position so he could tie her hands behind her back. The loss of blood from her wound made her feel weak. Little by little, the mice tore off her dress until she was completely nude. They poked and prodded her with their fingers. Deniece could only watch, helplessly and wearily, greatly embarrassed that a woman of her strength could do nothing. "You'll never get away with this!" she cried feebly. "Constable Smith will see to it that you're put behind bars!"

"I doubt that, missie!" her captor grinned. He pressed the tip of the blade to her neck, causing a tiny trickle of blood to drip. "Besides, who would waste their time trying to save-"

The mouse paused in his sentence. He felt something claw his back. He bellowed in agony as he released his grip on Deniece and reached for his back. Before he could grab whatever clawed him, he received a blow to his head and collapsed. The other mice let go of Deniece in surprise. Her upper torso plopped on the wet ground. Through blurred vision, she peered at the sight of the unconscious mouse. Behind him, she caught sight of a familiar face. "F-Fidget …"

"You leave her alone!" Fidget demanded. "If you want to deal with her, you'll have to deal with me first!"

Despite his demonstrated strength against the one mouse, the rest of Ratigan's gang laughed at him. "So you are alive after all, Fidget!" one mouse uttered in a mocking tone. "You may've dealt with our comrade, but you'll never beat us!"

Thus the battle began. For the most part, Fidget was able to handle them well. As the fight progressed, Fidget found himself outnumbered and on the ground. One of the thugs grabbed him by the scarf while the other grabbed his crippled wing and twisted it. He gritted his fangs in pain. "So, you betrayed us, you little peg-legged menace!" said the gang's leader. "And to think Ratigan made you his best employee!" Fidget glared at his captor angrily. The mouse drew him closer. "Swear allegiance to us and we'll promise to let you go pain-free!" he stated. "Resist us and you'll endure more suffering in areas other than your wing."

"I'd rather die dhan let you hurt Niecy!" Fidget responded defiantly.

"Then suffer a slow and painful death!"

Fidget bit the arm that held his scarf and punched the face of the other with his free fist, and the battle resumed. As he fought, memories of his parents' death raced through his head. He had lived in the shadows for too long. He had been a puppet to Captain Bates and Professor Ratigan. But no more! He could no longer endure the suffering of being branded as a coward. If he was to be sent to Newgate, so be it! He would rather hang than to see Deniece pay for all the mistakes he made!

The fight was over. Fidget was left standing, and Ratigan's thugs were defeated. He rushed over to Deniece's side. Her bruised, wet and nude body trembled in the cold. Once he held her in sitting position with his right arm wrapped around her, she trembled less. At the same time, Constable Smith and his fellow police-mice rushed into the scene. "Arrest those mice!" the constable ordered his fellow police mice. "Leave the peg-legged for questioning!"

Fidget grabbed Deniece's coat and wrapped it around her body. Deniece clutched her injured shoulder and looked blankly at her rescuer. Her usual soft green eyes were glassy and lifeless as a porcelain doll. "Fidget … darling …"

He looked up and saw that Constable Smith was standing beside them. "Help me … Please …!" he begged.

"I'll carry her to her house," said Constable Smith. "We must fetch Dr. Hemingway!"

**Chapter 4: Forgiveness**

Constable Smith and Fidget found themselves waiting in the parlor in anguished silence. Dr. Hemingway had been in the next room for over an hour with Deniece. Neither the peg-legged bat nor the mouse constable had the faintest idea what went on. Fidget wrung his trembling webbed hands as if trying to wash away the blood from a murder, repeatedly uttering Deniece's name. Then Dr. Hemingway came out.

"She is well," informed the Indian doctor, "but hahs lost a loht of blood. She is very fortunate that the wound was noht in a vital area."

Fidget's trembling ceased; he nearly fainted from relief. Constable Smith nearly shared the same reaction. "So Deniece will live?"

Dr. Hemingway nodded. "Right now, she needs rest. She must also be fed plenty of rare meat3 to get her full strength back."

Fidget raised himself from the chair. "May I see her?"

The kind doctor gestured his hands toward the door. Fidget was about to enter when Constable Smith's stern voice stopped him short. "Noht so fast, lad!"

The slight undertone of severity in the mouse's voice made Fidget wince.

"You may spend a moment with Deniece on one condition. After you speak with her, you will come with me to the station."

Ashamed, Fidget lowered his head. "Yes … I will …"

He opened the door a crack and peeked in. Deniece lay in bed, stirring and wincing from the discomfort in her left shoulder, which was bandaged. The peaceful expression on her face was a comfort to the ex-pirate. Fidget crept to the left side of Deniece's bed. He affectionately stroked her cheek with the back of his webbed fingers, whispering her name. "Niecy?"

Deniece's eyelids fluttered. She turned her head to gaze upon her speaker. When she realized who it was, a smile both small and soft flickered at the corners of her mouth. It was the most endearing smile that Fidget ever saw. "You fought those men … almost at the cost of your own life … to save mine. Why?"

"You were in trouble," said Fidget. "And you did da same for me. What else could I do?"

Deniece's smile suddenly changed into an expression of guilt. "I misjudged you, horribly. I was cruel to you ... Forgive me …"

Fidget put his finger to her lips. "You had every right to be angry. It's me who should apologize." He lowered his head to avoid eye contact. He held Deniece's left hand in both hands and caressed it while he struggled for words. "Niecy … I'm sorry …"

Deniece stared at Fidget in awe.

"I'm sorry dat I lied to you. And I'm sorry dat I … screwed up. I hurt a lot of people in my life … but … I never meant … to hurt you …"

Fidget's voice trembled. He struggled to speak as if hands squeezed his gullet. When Deniece attempted to make eye contact, he turned his head away. She spotted hints of tears in his eyes and realized that he was weeping. Then Fidget forced himself to look at Deniece's face in spite of his obvious shame.

"Niecy … I love you …"

Deniece scarcely believed what she heard. "What did you say?"

Fidget wiped his tears with the back of his hand. Choking up between words, he told Deniece that she was the only woman he ever loved that loved him in return. A new set of tears flowed down his face. His heartfelt confession provoked Deniece to weep too. She cupped her right hand to stifle her sobs and turned her head.

"I know … you can never … forgive me, Niecy … But I … could never forgive myself … if I lost you …"

Deniece's heart was so filled with pity for the wretched bat that she placed her right palm against his cheek. Her gentle touch nearly startled him. "Fidget, I forgive you."

"W … What?"

"Despite what you did, I love you too."

Fidget knew that her reply was honest. Unable to control himself, he grasped Deniece a deep, affectionate embrace. She wrapped her wings around him without hesitation. Fidget kissed her good shoulder and buried his face in her chest. Deniece leaned her cheek next to his and both their tears merged. Both bats felt so good by each other's touch that their embrace seemed endless … until Constable Smith's voice interrupted them. He informed Fidget that it was time to go and that he must bid Deniece farewell.

Fidget loosened his hold on Deniece and she gently leaned back onto the pillow. He wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to look confident. "Niecy, I have to go. I have a debt dat I must pay."

Although she wanted him to stay, Deniece understood why Fidget had to leave. "I understand," she whispered. "I … I will never forget you … Ever …"

Fidget gave Deniece his cap and scarf and told her to keep it as a memory of him. He kissed her cheek, thanked her for all the kindness she showed him, and assured her that he would never forget her either. In return, Deniece thanked him for saving her life and assured him that she was less lonely now. Constable Smith then pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and fastened Fidget's hands behind his back.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, lad."

Deniece watched the poor criminal leave the room with the constable. Fidget turned his head to meet her gaze for the last time. A shy smile of gratitude flickered on his face. Then he was gone. Deniece was now left in her solitude, with only Dr. Hemingway to look after her. Thinking of nothing but her departed friend, she uttered words in her French tongue:

"_Je ne vous oublierai jamais_4 ..."

The End


	4. Author's Notes

In case any certain elements of the story were incomprehensible, I've included an Author's Notes page to this pastiche. If you noticed that I had subscripted numbers in some paragraphs, this page has those footnotes included here with definitions.

PART I: DIVINE OR DEVIOUS?

1 "Bon soir..."-"Good evening"

2 "cherie"-"dear"

3 "How does the wine taste ..."-verses from a song of the same title, written by & ; sung by Barbra Streisand.

4 "Pardonnez monsieur ..."-"Pardon me, sir ..."

5 "From the finest peppermint leaves."-Peppermint contains an ingredient called menthol, found in modern day remedies like Vicks vapor-rub and most cold & cough medicines. These remedies did not exist during The Victorian Age, so an alternate would be the original source itself, from peppermint leaves, grounded in hot water and/or tea. Being from Asia, Dr. Hemingway's medicinal methods were more advanced than those of British doctors.

6 "Robert Hemingway?"; "That isn't his real name."-In the Victorian Age, it wasn't unusual for citizens of non-Western origin to use a name other than their birth-given one to avoid suspicion ... or discrimination.

7 "A French Amazon and a British mystic"-The term Amazon refers to a group of warrior women from Greek legends who dwelled in jungles (as the title implies) while a mystic is a person who believes that truth lies in spiritual methods beyond common understanding. In reality, the so-called Amazon originally came from Africa so they were primarily Black. Deniece is bi-racial; her real mother was from Morocco, a country located in North Africa. Fidget just stereotyped both Deniece and Dr. Hemingway, which was why she got offended.

8 harpy-A mythological creature in Greek legends with the head and upper torso of a woman and the body of a bird. In the case of Fidget's remark, it was also used as a curse word toward a woman a man did not particularly like.

9 Gloria in Excelsis Deo-"Glory to God in the Highest"

10 Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison-"Lord Have Mercy, Christ Have Mercy"

PART II: A NEWFOUND FRIENDSHIP

1 "Goodbye ... I wish YOU LOVE!"-verses from I Wish You Love, written by Paul Young & Drew Barfield; sung by various artists.

2 The Bloody Rose-The name of Captain Lillian Bates's ship

3 parlor-a room in houses meant for social gatherings, similar to what we would associate as a livingroom, minus TV and videogames.

4 The Mousedemonium Theatre-A parody of The Pandemonium Theatre, co-founded by Ray Bradbury in Los Angeles, CA.

5 kippers-whole herrings, small, oily fishes that have been split from tail to head, gutted, salted or pickled, and cold smoked.

6 "... likely to be sent to Newgate" ... Suddenly the sound of broken glass startled the two bats-Newgate was a prison where criminals were sent to be executed. It was in use between the years 1188 and 1902.

7 "But that incident cost her a lot of heartache with the men she fell in love with."- During the Victorian age, the cultural norm was a very conservative, politically correct lifestyle. Women were acknowledge for their virginity and purity. If a woman's virginity was lost before a marriage, even if she was the victim of a rape, she was viewed no differently than a prostitute. In the words of an article on ./opinion/project/2011-01/02/content_ on Victorian Age justice, "Rape was seen as a fate worse than death," as rapists names remained anonymous.

8 "Dormez vous?"-"Are you asleep?"

9 "mon chere"-"my dear"

10 "It's a lazy afternoon ..."-verses from A Lazy Afternoon, written by Jerome Moross & John Latouche; sung by Barbra Streisand.

PART III: STIRRING FROM THE DREAM

1 And his speech-he slurred on words so much that other children laughed.-This is a sign of children with a social disorder called autism. During the Victorian Age, this disorder did not have a name.

2 heathen-a term used for someone who was not Christian or Jewish, mostly used in a demeaning manner. Fidget's maternal family are practicing pagans, with the exception of Seamus O'Reilly. His paternal family was Catholic, but broke away from the church.

3 "... must be fed plenty of rare meat"-Rare meat contains vitamin B complex, which "supports and increases the rate of metabolism, maintains healthy skin and muscle tone, enhances immune and nervous system function, and promotes cell growth and division, including that of the red blood cells that help prevent anemia." (.org/wiki/Vitamin_B_complex) All the aforementioned factors are at risk in a major blood loss. It is also said that rare meat is good for preventing heart disease.

4 "Je ne vous oublierai jamais ..."-"I will never forget you..."


End file.
